The Penned Dragon
by wryter501
Summary: A place where the living meet the dead - for a price. And when Merlin meets the veil-keeper, neither his life nor Arthur's will ever be the same again... Modern a/u, canon pairings, magic, (no slash!).
1. To Bring Them Back

**The Penned Dragon**

 **Chapter 1: To Bring Them Back**

 _(Now)_

 _Someone said his name._

 _Gasped his name, in a shock of recognition. A female voice, familiar as a sister._

 _"Merlin? Omigosh, Merlin! No, let me take this one - what happened to him, do we know?"_

 _He heard other voices. Seizure. Loss of consciousness. Cardiac arrhythmia._

 _"Can you hear me? Merlin?"_

 _He blinked – bright lights flashed by above him, head-to-foot, head-to-foot. The sensation of movement said to him, gurney… hospital. The clear, cold scent of oxygen through a tube… which sparked a bit of concern – until he heard her voice again, saw her brown eyes full of worry for him, and knew he didn't have to._

 _Gwen would take care of him. Best damn nurse he knew. Only nurse he knew, damn or otherwise._

 _He closed his eyes again._

 _Someone else said. BP's falling. Give 'im twenty CCs of –_

 _Gwen said, clearly and heart-broken, "What happened to him?"_

* * *

(Maybe about 15 years ago…)

The Penned Dragon had been in business as long as he could remember. The business of reuniting people with the spirits of their beloved deceased, for a price – and for the gullible, some said. So named because the dragons of myth had always been creatures of mystic vision, spirit-guides still, perhaps.

It was in view whenever Merlin came to sit out on the fire escape of his childhood building apartment with Will – he climbed down, or his friend climbed up – legs through the railing to dangle two stories above the neighboring roof, and two more from the ground of the alley between. Traffic sounded, and sirens.

Will said, "That place is haunted."

Merlin looked where Will was looking – the iconic round building a dozen blocks distant, short in comparison, but visible between other structures – and said, immediately and uncertainly, "It is not. Spirits only come when they're 'pecifically called."

Will shrugged unconcern over the distinction. "I'm going as soon as I'm old enough," he said.

"Or as soon as you can make your parents sign permission?" Merlin suggested.

Will gave him a shove that rocked him nearly horizontal, sideways. And which both of them forgot, the next moment. "You'll come with me, right?"

"My dad says I shouldn't, even when I'm old enough," Merlin said, a bit worried over the one unusual in the list of parental cautions. "He says there's no way of knowing how I'll react, and it might be… dangerous."

"Oh, because you're –" Will wiggled his fingers to express Merlin's difference, which only he and Merlin's parents were aware of. "Huh. Well, if you did go –" blithely overlooking Merlin's restrictions for imagination's sake – "who'd you wanna talk to?"

It devolved into a competition from there, who could think of a dead person the most famous or outrageous or dangerous – which of course would cost far more than either of them or their families could ever afford, and required ten kinds of governmental permission forms.

Usually folks requested the spirit of a loved one – and at that time, neither Will nor Merlin had anyone they loved, deceased.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

"Arthur," his mother whispered. "Arthur…"

He remembered her. He dreamed others' dreams all day long, and the night was still and silent and cold and lonely – _sterile_ \- but he remembered her. The loving smile, the warm embrace, the circle of her arms and lap where all was so perfectly safe… He trusted her as a child does, without ever needing to define trust.

He obeyed her, when she said, "Let me go. My time is over, yours is just begun… Your father cannot heal, if you keep calling me back…"

He thought of that moment and that advice, sometimes. When he was made to call the living back, again and again. He wanted to tell them what his mother had taught him, that release and acceptance was needed for healing.

But he was only a child. An observer.

Vaguely he remembered his father. The anger was the clearest. The raging demands for obedience to _his_ will, to call his mother back.

Bring her back.

Bring her _back_.

In a childish way, however, he knew his mother was right. Knew that obedience to her command, was right. That it was _not_ right to give anger and pain, whatever it thought it desired.

So he never parted the veil it seemed he alone could see and touch, to ask for his mother again.

And sometimes he thought – though all emotion was separated from him, and viewed but wearily - his father hated him for that. At least, he hadn't seen his father since then.

The woman came soon after, the one who reminded him of his mother. Still did, sometimes, when she entered the room unexpectedly, and his mind was a bit more lucid than normal. She had similarly fine features, wavy blonde hair also, though it was much longer than he remembered his mother's. Thicker, more vibrant.

But her face was different. It was sharp, it was clever, greedy, ambitious, intent – he felt that before he even knew those words. She looked at him as she looked at all the equipment in the work-room – close scrutiny to make sure all was at peak operating capacity.

He never tried to speak to her. And very soon, she also stopped trying to make him summon his mother. All others, he would call upon her command.

But not Ygraine Flite.

His parents, he remembered. The blonde woman, he remembered. But not friends, and only rarely in a distant way, grass and trees and sunshine and toys. Color. Activity.

Because the day-dreams were so absolutely swollen with experience – stories, reminiscence - it exhausted him. So many people, so many feelings, so many words. Young and old, male and female, nasty and nice and everything in-between. They shouted, they wept, they pleaded, they argued, they threatened.

As he watched and listened and absorbed, whether he wanted to or not. Silently, invisibly, drawing aside the veil to summon another spirit, as instructed. Another, another, anotheranotheranother…

And in the night, when all was silent and he was mercifully alone, on his hard bed in the locked white room, sometimes he missed his mother. Sometimes he even missed his father.

Sometimes he actually felt lonely.

* * *

(4-ish years ago)

"I'm going to the Penned Dragon," Will said abruptly, smoke coming out with his words before he stubbed his cigarette out on the metal of the walkway, neglecting to ask as he usually did, if Merlin wanted the last puff. "Tomorrow. Come with?"

"What?" Merlin was standing upwind in a vain attempt to keep his mother from smelling the smoke on his clothes, leaning over the fire-escape rail, thinking of something else entirely – namely, what to do after graduation. Then his brain caught up. "The Penned Dragon? How can you afford that? And who would you talk to?"

"I asked," Will said. "It doesn't cost near as much, just to check if someone's crossed over to the spirit world. Not to actually visit with them."

"But who would – oh, your dad?"

"It's different for you," Will said defensively, though Merlin privately thought it uncalled for. "You know what happened to your dad. You even got to say goodbye."

Merlin breathed evenly – twice – before answering. "Doesn't make it any easier."

Three years earlier, Will's dad had vanished. His mom had called him at work – a construction site, the same as Merlin's father – to bring home milk when he came. Only, he never came. The official opinion was, he'd walked out on his family as well as his debts. Will's mother bitterly refused to discuss it; Will see-sawed between hoping it was true – and his father still alive, though absent - and trying to believe something more sinister had prevented the intended return of a father who'd wanted to.

Balinor, on the other hand, had caught pneumonia last winter. Whether he didn't believe his bad cold was _that_ bad, or thought to save a few bucks on doctor's fees, by the time he was admitted wheezing and nearly delirious with fever into the hospital, it was too late. Six more hours he lived, the medication only serving to make him comfortable and coherent.

The day following this conversation, Merlin went with Will, though his father's warnings still whispered in the corners of his mind.

There was, as Will had claimed, a venue for inquiries only, a separate entrance out of sight of the main doors, owing to the curve of the building. They had to wait in a small room, Will's leg jiggling the entire sofa of worn tan corduroy, as the elderly man who'd been there before them leaned one elbow on the counter. His legs were skinny in baggy trousers, his spine bent with age under his rather large head, white hair drawn into a short queue at his neck, but his blue eyes were sharp when he looked at Merlin and Will over his half-glasses. And he apparently had a whole list of names to check the spirit world for.

"Moral support?" he suggested laconically to Merlin, with a brief gesture at Will.

"Something like that." Merlin glanced at Will, who chewed his smallest fingernail viciously and glared oblivious at the faded rug, then stood to join the old man at the counter, as body language invited. "You?"

"I'm here on behalf of the police department," the old man informed him. "Annual check, both missing persons and cold-case bail-jumpers."

Merlin looked him over again, and cocked his head. "But you're not a cop," he said.

The old man chuckled. "Right you are – pretty sharp for a high-schooler, huh?"

"Senior," Merlin said, as if that made a difference.

The old man hummed. "Heading to college?"

"Probably not," Merlin didn't mind telling him. "Can't afford it - gotta get a job."

"Doing what?" the old man wanted to know.

"Well, my dad was in construction…" Again the old man gave him a sharp-eyed once-over, and Merlin felt himself flush a little self-consciously, knowing what he saw. Merlin's growing had always gone into height, not width or breadth. Not obvious muscle. And maybe that was what gave him the courage to point out, "You never said what you do, if you're not a cop."

"I was," the old man corrected. "Not anymore."

"And now?"

"Private investigator. Though I'm getting too old for the legwork…"

The inner door opened, interrupting their conversation, and Merlin retreated to Will's couch as the old man and the attendant, a sharp-nosed blonde woman closer to middle age than youth, though with an undeniable beauty that somehow affected Merlin not at all. They went through the old man's list – Merlin assumed – for a few more minutes, before he turned to leave.

As Will bounded for the desk, the old man handed Merlin a card. "Bring me your diploma," he said. "We'll talk work and wages."

When Will's answer came back positive – his father deceased, spirit present and accounted for in the existence beyond the veil – Merlin nearly forgot card and offer both, in the task of comforting and caring for his distraught and grieving friend.

Nearly.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Arthur was aware of changes. In the vague, distant, careless way that he was ever aware of anything.

Changes to the room. A new chair, a new bed. Which made him think a little further, a little harder, and realize the changes to himself. Bigger. Taller. Hairier. He understood a little better, some of the things the people argued about, all day every day while he observed – waited, called, escorted – without physical movement.

Though the blonde woman with sharp eyes was an occasional constant, the others who moved about him more frequently were no longer young women. They were older, fatter. They chatted to each other – the same sort of repetitious garbage he heard all day in the spirit-dreams - and maneuvered him efficiently, in and out of the chair, the bath, his bed. They shaved his scalp and occasionally his chin, watched him eat and brush his teeth, and he had no complaints.

He was so tired all the time.

It occurred to him, he was tired of _this_.

It occurred to him, he was bored with the weight of humanity. So he began to look for details that interested him, to focus on instead. Things that were unique, among the clamor of selfishness – I wish you hadn't died, where did you leave (any given object of value), why why why.

He looked for calm and peace and good. He looked for love and sweetness. In the petitioner somnolent as he, in the chairs in the rooms – and in the spirits passing back and forth through the resonance of the crystals.

And began to suspect, _some_ of them might not be as oblivious to his role in their visitation, as he'd always believed.

* * *

(A year or so ago)

"Merlin!" Hunith called down the stairs to his semi-private set of rooms in the cramped walk-out half-basement. "Pick up the phone, it's for you."

His hand hovered over the pair of phones on his desk in the corner, blocking half the closet, scattered papers and writing utensils, files and reports of the entrepreneurial private-investigation business he now ran alone. Mostly his calls came in on the second line, which only rang here and didn't bother his mother, the widower she'd remarried last year, or his adult daughter on the main level of the suburb house. This line meant, a _private_ private call.

"Who is it?" he hollered back.

"Will!"

His hand still hovered. Still, from surprise. In the last three years, while he'd been busying himself learning the PI business – becoming proficient enough to take over contacts and contracts and his old employer-partner-friend retired to happily nurse his ulcer in the country – and moving out of the apartment building, Will had bounced from job to job, bed to bed, girl to girl.

Not for lack of Merlin trying to help his friend find his feet again, after the shock of his father's death. Merlin had learned the hard way to be hopeful, yet not expectant, for much from a friend by turns needy and resentful.

He picked up the phone. "Will?"

"I've got it." His friend sounded positively euphoric. "The money. Remember?"

Merlin was afraid he did.

Three years ago, nearly to the day, Will had made him swear on their fathers' respective graves, they would earn and save the money necessary to go back to the Penned Dragon. Penetrate the inner recesses, and see for once and for all if the rumors were true, and the spirits of the dead could be summoned for private visits. For an hourly fee.

It had been a topic of top-of-the-lungs arguments, between Will and his mother, who didn't want him to waste any time or money – badly needed for other expenses - on the endeavor. And Will in turn had characteristically overrode Merlin's objections, based on his own deceased father's warnings.

"Remember?" Will repeated. "I've finally got mine. Have you?"

Merlin didn't have the heart to tell him, he'd had the amount accruing interest for almost a year now. On the off chance Will would both remember, and achieve his self-imposed goal.

"The rates probably went up," he said.

"I've kept an eye on that, and I've got half an hour by today's price list. You're not backing out on me, are you?"

Merlin sighed, careful to keep the exhalation from sounding in the phone. "When?" he said, picking up his pen and using his forearm to clear three sheets of paper off the top of his desk calendar.

"Can you do it last thing on Friday?"

As Merlin wrote it in and hung up the phone, his step-sister came down the stairs, slowly one by one so Merlin could call out an objection if he wanted to. He never did; he only ever undressed behind the closed bathroom door, and they were as close as blood siblings already, anyway. He had no personal secrets from her – not even the _one_ \- and she never pried into the business of his PI business.

"That was Will?" Gwen said, seating herself on the third stair from the bottom. She'd met Merlin's first and best friend a few times in the past year, and remained unimpressed.

He was about to comment on her risking her neat scrubs in such a position – then realized they were already wrinkled, her face drawn and her eyes tired and her knot of hair leaking curly tendrils, though she smiled as sweet and lively as ever. Coming off shift, then. Merlin explained the whole business – lost fathers, claimed promise.

"Are you going to tell your mother?" Gwen asked.

"I talked about it with her when I made Will the promise," he said. "She wasn't happy, but finally said, if it was something I wanted to do, I could make the decision for myself. She said her goodbyes… I think she still looks forward to seeing my dad again, but… she's happy with your dad, too." Gwen hummed in agreement; she'd been glad to see her lonely father paired companionably again, too – and the two of them getting along so well was a nice bonus. He added curiously, "Would you see your mom, if you had the chance?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I don't remember her that well… I guess I'd like her to know that we're doing well, but… no, I probably wouldn't spend the money that way, honestly." After a moment, she asked him, "Are you going to take Will's case, then?"

"What?" A split second later, his brain caught up – he was just coming off shift, too, a bit tired and therefore mentally slow.

But, if Will's father had died under suspicious circumstances – because his body had never been recovered – surely Will would be determined to find out all he could from the summoned spirit. And then make it right.

"Yeah," he said, suddenly twice as tired. "I guess I would, if he asked."

She quirked an eyebrow, tilting her head to show him what she thought of that. Their birthdays were a week and two years apart, and they were both only children; he never minded when she acted the older step-sister she was now. She thought Merlin too inclined to take pro bono work, though his finances were stable, if thin.

"What are you doing with your Friday night, then?" he asked as he threw down his pen and creaked his desk chair backwards a few degrees, playing the teasing younger brother.

She shrugged. "Out with Lancelot, probably."

His turn for quirking and tilting. "You do not have to go out with the guy again just because he's a friend of mine," he said.

"I know," she said. "But he's sweet and I haven't got any better offers."

Merlin flipped loyalties effortlessly, giving her a playful frown. "You're not leading him on, are you?"

"No. He knows it's only as friends, and it'll never be anything more."

"He hopes," Merlin warned her.

She pushed herself up off the stairs and turned to go back up. "Good luck with Friday, anyway."

"Yeah, you too."

Merlin couldn't quite forget that one small entry on his schedule, even as he dealt with suspected cyber-stalking and accusations of a cheating conspiracy at the local community college and one old case of a questionable murder-suicide.

The main reception of the Penned Dragon was not more ostentatious than the queries office. It could have been the waiting room of a dental clinic, Merlin thought, looking around. Coffee table with an array of magazines, obscurely inspirational posters, fake foliage.

Clipboard on his knee, pen in his hand as he filled out requisite paperwork. A general-health questionnaire. A vaguely-worded agreement to the procedure of the visitation. Indemnity waivers.

He nudged Will with his shoulder. "What do they expect is going to happen?" he said, tilting the clipboard. "Death or dismemberment? Next of kin?"

"Man, you have to sign this stuff to get a tattoo or get on some of those big-time thrill-rides," Will said, too busy signing to read. "One in a million chance anything goes wrong, but this stops a lawsuit."

"It bothers me that something _could_ go wrong," Merlin said.

"Oh, come on." Will flipped to his next page. "They just don't want some old lady having a heart attack to see her hubby again after a million years, y'know?"

Merlin hummed noncommittally. Then again, he wouldn't be allowed to proceed without this paperwork…

It seemed that the starting times of the appointments were staggered by five minutes, so he was shown down a long hall by himself, five minutes after Will had disappeared through the lobby door. The hall – blank beige walls, industrial ash-gray carpet – seemed to run the circumference of the building, the doors to rooms all to the inside. It was deserted, and silent.

The girl – white silk blouse, black pencil skirt and pumps that raised her almost to his height - noticed his curiosity. "The rooms are all sound-proofed," she explained professionally over her shoulder, "for client privacy."

"Ah," he said, and followed her into the room marked 8.

Immediately, he noticed the crystals.

They hummed against his ear-drums like the strange vibration of absolute silence, alluring and intimidating and vaguely _wrong_ , and he ducked a bit to look around his guide, and the room's one piece of furniture to see that there was more than one stone piece, roughly the size of a man's fist, interrupting the carpeted floor.

Did everyone notice that first, feel the same – as if they could hold a conversation with the inanimate stones, if only they could find the key to the language, somewhere in their subconscious? He doubted it, and tried to ignore the crystal purr; he turned his attention to examining the rest of the room.

The single chair facing toward the inner wall was a comfortable recliner, though the plastic covers on foot- and head-rest reminded him that this was not someone's living room. Otherwise it was the same as the hall, a vaguely wedge-shaped room with plain walls and gray carpet, a vent on the ceiling, and a mulberry-colored candle next to a long-stemmed lighter next to a box of tissues on a narrow shelf inset on the right-hand wall.

The attendant went for the lighter, clicked it prosaically, and lit the blackened wick.

"Have a seat, and clip that monitor to your forefinger." She pointed, and he saw that a wire emerged from the padding of the arm of the recliner, from which dangled a pulse oximeter. Precautions against lawsuits, again; if alarms alerted the personnel, the session would be over and medical aid – if necessary – applied. "Your visitation will start as soon as I leave, and you've made yourself comfortable and relaxed. Do you have any questions?"

"Yes, actually." That reminded him. "One of those papers I signed mentioned aromatherapy?"

She gave him an odd look, and made an obvious gesture toward the candle; a thin line of black smoke twisted above the wick, and the scent of sandalwood was just becoming noticeable. "Nothing to worry about, it just helps to relax you if you're nervous or frightened."

"Or angry?" he risked. At least two of the ingredients listed – he didn't think people were expected to read that required fine print, or understand the chemical significance of the technical terms - had a soporific effect on the senses.

Her gaze sharpened. "Are you expecting to become angry?"

He shrugged. "No. But I imagine it happens?"

Flat smile. "Client confidentiality."

"What about the hallucinogen?" The cost as well as the advertising led one to believe they were promised a genuine meeting, not just an altered perception.

She breathed once, and he sensed a bit of uncertainty – as if she'd been prepared for the question by her superiors, but had never been asked it, before. "Some prefer to leave here believing they've only had a dream or seen a vision, not actually spoken with their chosen departed," she said. "Especially if they're disappointed. In reality, the mixed scent is only to help the client relax and therefore enjoy the experience more – the effect is no stronger than, say, a single glass of wine." She smiled as an actress might. "If you have any further questions, I'll be happy to answer, but it is your time we're wasting…"

"Yeah, okay." He nodded. "Thanks." She slipped past him to the door, closing him softly in.

The crystals whispered. He wondered if it was his imagination that they glowed, just a bit. Amethyst, he thought. He didn't dare touch them, even with the toe of his shoe, but believed they were mounted somehow, not simply set on top of the carpet. He couldn't tell how far down they might extend into the floor; something warned him from looking too deeply or too long into their fractured depths, and it sounded very like his father. He wondered what was below the carpet, behind the back wall…

He wondered if he was really going to waste his time looking at the room. They weren't going to _start_ until he was ready.

Was he ready? Was he scared? Did he have reason to be scared? What if he lost control and _did_ something to expose his deepest darkest?

He settled himself warily into the chair, resting his arms, lifting his feet, pushing it slightly back and allowing his head to drop down. Like watching tv, rather than taking a nap. He slid his forefinger into the snug grip of the oximeter and a tiny red light blinked to show it was operating properly.

The smell of sandalwood increased, and altered. Mint, violet… sage. There was a fan in the vent set into the ceiling above him – though motionless, now. The smoke drifted and gathered, wisps visible, most dissipating into the air in the small room.

His heart pounded, and they were tracking that.

The air shimmered, a bit like a sheet of water soundlessly descending a wall-fountain. A figure emerged slowly as if stepping forward – tall, bearded man in his favorite black t-shirt and paint-spattered jeans, and sock-footed, a detail that delighted Merlin – but looking over his shoulder. He was already speaking, his voice coming to Merlin's ears like turning up the volume, "…Can talk later, if you wish?"

Then he faced Merlin, and gave him a wide, warm smile that had Merlin grinning through his tears and forgetting his skepticism.

"Merlin!" he said.

"Father," Merlin choked out. His heart leaned forward eagerly, but his body remained relaxed in the chair. "Is it really you?"

"Yes, it's me," Balinor said, sounding as pleased to see him.

"How?"

"It's complicated," his father told him, exactly as he'd said it over the engine of the old Dodge Ram he'd driven to work. With warm humor and the intent to include, if Merlin could understand. "I'm not sure I'm supposed to try to explain."

"But how do I know for sure?" Merlin said, and forestalled the obvious suggestion, "Anything you tell me to prove it's you, could be only supplied by my subconscious, right?"

Balinor's dark eyes twinkled. "How about if I tell you something about your mother that you don't know?"

"Okay." Merlin hoped, with the ridiculous embarrassment of an adult child, that he wouldn't be told anything too personal – though he'd missed that feeling, a comfortable reassurance like seeing your parents kiss when they don't know anyone's looking, and it delighted him, too.

"Hm. How about, when I asked her to marry me. She didn't say yes, the first time."

"What?" Merlin said, surprised.

"She said, _quit kidding around_." His father's grin was brilliantly nostalgic. "How is she, by the way?"

"She's fine." Merlin hesitated, then decided to tell him a bit about Tom, his stepfather, and Gwen. Their meeting and friendship, the wedding and their life now.

Balinor still smiled, though it was melancholy. "Good. That's good, I'm glad she found happiness again."

"She still misses you, though, we both do," Merlin said, trying to keep his tone light and his tears unshed. "She didn't want to do this, and didn't think I should either, but she understands."

"Why are you doing this?" Balinor wanted to know, his tone fondly scolding. "I told you not to –" a sliver of hesitation – "spend your money like this."

Merlin knew his father, knew what Balinor was saying, in the careful way they always discussed him and his abilities. "I think I'm okay. I guess I'll just have to be careful til I know for sure whether this has upset… anyone," he said lightly. "Dad, I… wish you were here."

Balinor's face twisted, just slightly, though still he smiled. "I know, son. Me, too. But some things aren't meant to be… tell me, though?"

So Merlin did. About graduation, and his job –

"Any girlfriends?"

"No, dad." Merlin felt himself flushing, but it was satisfying, somehow, to have his father tease him about the nonexistent girls in his life again. "I haven't found the one yet, but when I do, you'll be the –" _First to know_ , he almost said. Damn, this was harder than he thought. Would it make his grief fresher, to say goodbye again and leave?

"Okay," Balinor said, but it was so odd a response to Merlin's dangling sentence he thought again that his father wasn't speaking to him. "Our time's up, son," he added, reaching for Merlin – then stopping, as if he'd tried to extend his hand through a window, and barked his knuckles. He looked down at the crystals – each of them in turn – and withdrew his hand. "Ah."

"Dad?" Merlin said. It was selfish, this desire to keep his father's spirit, draw the time out, he knew that. It was a selfish pain.

"I'm sorry, I've got to go – I'm being called," Balinor said, and gave Merlin a proud smile. "You've become a man, son. I love you – always will – tell your mother? And look after her, no matter what."

"I will." Merlin swallowed the lump in his throat as Balinor raised his hand in farewell and turned, stepping away – just as he'd done when Merlin stood at the front door of their apartment to wave him goodbye down the hall to work.

And he was gone.

A quiet motor whirred to life, along with the fat curved blades of the fan above, drawing up the smoke and the scent.

Merlin wondered briefly what would happen if the candle was blown out, or tipped over – then took several deep deliberate breaths. He swiped at his eyes to remove moisture just before his door opened to the blonde girl - only her, no armed men – and pushed to his feet, stiff and awkward.

She bent to puff out the candle-flame, and said unapologetically, "I'm sorry, your time is up. If you'd like to make a return appointment, you can do so at the front desk."

He followed her to the long hall, again or still deserted – and felt incongruously light-headed from the clearer air.

"There's also a restroom here on your left if you'd like to freshen up." She gestured without slowing, assuming.

"Yes, thank you," he said, having to clear some huskiness from his throat.

It was uncomfortably fancy in the bathroom, but he was left alone. Plain old cold water still came from the tap, and he felt better for splashing some on his face. And realized after all, he wasn't sorry he'd come.

Will, however, seemed to be in a foul mood.

He hadn't waited for Merlin, and was a block away already when he emerged onto the street – and didn't slow when Merlin called out and trotted after him. Glancing once over his shoulder – but still no one came after him, and he decided his father's fears were unfounded; he hadn't given himself away.

"How did it go?" Merlin asked breathlessly when he caught up, and not only for some random thing to say. Because of course he was interested also to learn the answers to Will's questions about his father's death, too – when, where, _why_.

"Peachy," Will said sourly, as good as a shout – _I don't want to talk about it_ – which Merlin decided, he'd better respect. Will gave him a sidelong glance. "You had a lovely catch-up with yours, though, huh?"

"Mm." The fresh air was clearing Merlin's head, memory piquing his curiosity, and so he changed the subject. "There was something, though, right at the end, my dad said he was being called… what do you think that means? Who or what calls the spirits or finds them or brings them to our side or makes them go back? Who's got that kind of power or –"

"You really think it's them, then," Will said suddenly, stalking with his hands in his pockets, glaring at the cracks in the sidewalk. "I mean, that it's not just an image from our subconscious, or a waking nightmare or something?"

"I think so," Merlin hedged. "That it was my dad, I mean. He told me something to check with my mom, that it was him… but, yeah, I guess so. Why? What happened with yours?"

"If you truly are my friend, Merlin," Will said with vehement fury, "don't ever ask me that question again." Abruptly he veered off their course, crossing the busy street with a single careless glance for the traffic.

And Merlin could only stand and watch him go.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

 _Balinor Emrys._

It was an unusual name. Arthur was sure he would have remembered calling the name before, even among the millions of names he was instructed to call, as he touched the fabric of the veil, like liquid silk, like cool melted silver. Almost, he could actually feel it, actually see it.

A first-timer. Though there were many more of those that repeated requests, it sparked a bit of genuine interest.

The spirit responded as they all did – had to? - moved confidently through the veil, calm and unafraid. Arthur interpreted his impression in visual terms – a large man, bearded and with rather wild gray hair, casually comfortably dressed.

And Balinor Emrys paused, to observe Arthur in turn.

Which had never happened before.

"Good morning," Balinor Emrys said. "Is it morning?"

How should Arthur know? He twitched one shoulder in a shrug.

"You called," Balinor Emrys went on, with a curiosity of his own, that no one else had shown before – they were all in a hurry to reach the other end of the tunnel again, to appear in the invisible crystal-cage in the room where their petitioner waited. To interact with the living. And he didn't go on, clearly waiting for an answer.

That made Arthur a bit nervous. How long had it been since someone had spoken to him, expecting an answer. But his mother's manners, though long dormant, were still as much a part of him as his few formative years with her.

"I called," he answered huskily. "Someone wants to see you."

"Who?" Balinor asked.

Arthur hitched his shoulder again. The names of the petitioners were unknown to him, unless he paid attention to the visitation, and the name of the live one was mentioned.

"How long do I have?"

"Half an hour," Arthur answered. "Or less. I'll call again when time is up."

Balinor Emrys smiled. And Arthur was taken completely by surprise at the flood of warmth that filled a space in his chest, he had not even realized was empty.

"Very well, then, boy. We can talk later, if you wish."

The broad-shouldered, wild-visaged man turned to his visitation. And Arthur's attention turned with him.

His eyes opened - in the small room with the chair and the straps and the bright lights and the quiet workers and the buzzing machinery and the crystals – to watch the one screen, in the bank of screens that resembled the magnification of a fly's eye, marked 8.

And his spirit listened.

 **A/N: So you've realized, another modern A/U. This one (as Necromancer's Apprentice was based on ep.2.12) comes out of ep.2.8 "The Sins of the Father." Will include the Round Table core cast (Arwen, Freylin, eventually), but I currently don't have plans to write either Morgana or Mordred into this fic. It'll be told in two parts – roughly, the exodus and the return of the king – but most likely all of it under this heading. Updates shouldn't take longer than a week… I think that's it as far as preliminaries go…**

 **Also, please note, this title has been used before, I've seen at least once (though I think for that one, 'penned' refers to the writing utensil) – but I had this title in mind for my fic before I saw that… No plagiarism intended!**

 **Sorry about the cliffie at the beginning; it may be a couple of chapters before we catch up to that action… Anyway, hope you enjoy!**


	2. Research and Investigation

**Chapter 2: Research and Investigation**

Merlin didn't know whether to expect to hear from Will again or not.

A P.I.'s hours were crazy sometimes – surveillance or research, a private contract or an official one from the P.D. Will's new job – at least at the time of their visit to the Penned Dragon – had been as an HVAC technician, which also had crazy hours, though with a seasonal ebb and flow. It was six months of gradually tapering off unreturned calls, before Merlin heard his first friend's voice again.

"Hey. Go back with me?"

"Back?" Merlin pretended he didn't know exactly what Will meant.

"To the Penned Dragon. C'mon, Merlin. Even if you don't have the money to get a room – or you don't want to see your dad again–"

Pang. _Ouch, Will, for gosh sakes_.

"At least go with me."

Merlin took a breath and said deliberately, "Not until you tell me what's going on." There followed a silence so long Merlin might have thought he'd been hung up on, if not for the lack of dial tone. "Will?"

"My dad told me how. And who. And why. I went to talk to – that person. And sh- that person told me… other things. I've finally got another half-hour's fee, but I just… don't want to go alone. And that's all I'm going to tell you. Coming or not?"

It occurred to Merlin that Will did not have any other friends who were close or trusted enough, to ask this favor of. And though his vague explanation raised more questions than it answered, Merlin somehow knew that their first visit hadn't provided the closure Will might need to stabilize his life and future.

"Yeah, I'll come."

It wasn't the same girl walking Merlin to his room – this time number 4 – but she was dressed the same, and had the same professionally-detached manner. The room was the same, too – comfortable recliner facing the inner wall, ceiling vent-and-fan, candle and tissues.

Crystals embedded in the floor, almost malevolently curious at his entrance.

Balinor was the same, too. His favorite casual clothes, his curly graying hair needing a cut – as Merlin's often seemed to, before he noticed – but he seemed more serious, somehow. Preoccupied.

"Merlin," he said. His expression was pleased, but his tone chided. "Again?"

"Will wanted to come back," Merlin said. "He wanted me with, and I had a bit of a windfall last month, so I thought…" Another thought struck him. "Do you have contact with other spirits on your side of the veil?"

"Yes…"

"All of them?" Merlin persisted. "Will's dad? Do you know what happened?" Balinor hesitated; Merlin saw the answer was _yes_. "Can you at least tell me enough to help him? He's my friend, Dad, you know that, and I'm worried about him."

Balinor sighed. "I believe he was better off thinking his father abandoned him and his mother… but that wasn't my choice."

Merlin tried to lean forward in the chair, and found the physical lassitude too great to overcome for mere curiosity.

"Something you've got to understand, son – spirits can lie just as they did when they were alive."

Merlin noticed his father excluded himself, but as his mother had corroborated the proposal story – with a chuckle and a whisked tear – knew he could trust his father as he ever had.

"Something else you didn't know – nor Will, you boys were young and busy with your own concerns – Will's father sometimes did drugs, in addition to the alcohol. Recreationally, he said, but he was constantly on the edge of being caught out, at work." Balinor's mouth twisted beneath his beard; Merlin thought of the trouble that an impaired operator could cause on a construction site, and agreed. "He gambled, he owed _money_ , to the wrong people. I don't know details, but if he told Will what he told me… well. He claimed his wife had lured him to a corner store, hit him in the head from behind in the alley. Body in a trash bag in a dumpster, taken to a landfill and never found."

Merlin compartmentalized his horror and instinctive sympathetic grief for his friend, guilt that he hadn't tried harder to be there for Will – with almost professionally ruthless determination. He said to his father, "Do you believe him?"

Balinor shrugged and put his hands in his pockets, a characteristic gesture that made Merlin simultaneously sad for missing him, and glad that he could expect some sort of reunion someday when it was his turn. "What matters is if Will believes it, I suppose. Merlin… please be careful in this place and with these people. Just because you escaped notice once doesn't grant you immunity forever."

"Dad…" Merlin didn't know what to say.

"They can't hear you," Balinor said, "the rooms aren't wired for sound. And they can't really see me – any of us – but there are certain _sensors_."

"Okay…"

"It's just… well, think about it. There's so much potential for corruption, here, a very subtle power to be wielded over the emotions of influential people, and Arthur has said that–"

"Who's –" Merlin didn't get the unfamiliar name out; Balinor raised a warning hand.

"Don't repeat his name, I shouldn't have said it. I'm not supposed to know about him, but – well, you know." Balinor gave him a sad smile. "You and I are not exactly normal."

"But who is he?"

"Arthur's the reason any of this is possible," Balinor said. "The doorman of the veil, if you will. Like us, a bit, only in a different way – a latent ability he was born with – like he's–"

"Dad, there's someone behind you." Merlin didn't know whether to be fascinated or frightened. These visits were only supposed to be one-on-one, and he didn't even recognize the childish shape that gradually detached from a shy-nervous huddle around the backs of his father's knees. No one he'd requested; no one he knew.

"Oh!" His father looked down, surprised himself, and the pale, indistinct child's shape looked back up at him. Balinor's hand moved, almost of its own accord, to rest on the head. "This is Arthur."

"Ar- He's a _child_?" Merlin was incredulous.

"No – not really. I think this is a visual representation of – not a mental or emotional age, but maybe a… confidence level? Arthur was born several years before you were, son." A pair of light blue eyes – the only color associated with the second spirit - turned on Merlin, who promptly decided on fascination over fear. Balinor looked back down and addressed the interloper. "Why are you here, boy? How'd you come through?"

There was no answer, but the huddled shape straightened slowly, as if standing up, and ended as a slender vague shadow, head-height at Balinor's shoulder, only his hands distinct, as if he held them slightly forward of his body, elbows bent.

"Is he –" Merlin didn't wish to offend. "A spirit, too?"

"Yes. Well, no – not in the way you mean. Arthur hasn't died, but his spirit isn't tethered to his body the same way yours is. Not in this place."

The crystals pulsed jealously, and Merlin suddenly wondered, how many rooms. Four to a room in a diamond pattern on the ground, which seemed to represent the allowed position for the appearing spirit – how many total? What did they do, how did they work – who had put them there?

"So he's like a – medium?"

"Of sorts." Balinor smiled down at the boy-size spirit, and answered a question Merlin hadn't heard. "Yes, this is my son Merlin. I'll tell you more about him later."

"Hey!" Merlin said, but wasn't offended.

Balinor put his arm around young Arthur's shoulders and they turned together, as if to leave. "You don't need me anymore," Balinor said to Merlin. "And he, might need us both."

"What do you mean?" Merlin said, trying to lean his heavy body forward, trying to will them to stay a little longer – time couldn't be up already, surely?

"Do your job," Balinor said, seriously but with a twinkle in his eyes. "Research, and investigation. Follow the breadcrumbs. Or just say goodbye."

And they were gone.

His father hadn't actually said goodbye this time. Was that on purpose – did he anticipate Merlin's return? Merlin wondered as he walked – a little dizzy, but this time he didn't need the washroom to compose himself – to the waiting room.

Where once again, Will hadn't waited for him. And was nowhere in sight, when he left the lobby for the windy streets.

And didn't answer Merlin's calls.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …*….. …..*…..

Balinor Emrys was special. Arthur had known that from the first moment the man's spirit had crossed the veil.

The first emotion he had consciously registered in _years_ had been surprise. The second was curiosity.

The third was gladness, to realize that the single visitation of the man with his grown son – an unusually calm and loving interaction, for this place, which Arthur appreciated as no one else could – was not the end.

He _learned_ how special Balinor was, gradually, over time. Not because he could communicate with Arthur, the way none of the others could – but because he wanted to.

Balinor saw Arthur. He heard him.

Sometimes it seemed like he loitered just beyond the veil, and understanding passed back and forth, images and feelings, if not words. While Arthur was not otherwise distracted by the duties of his post, calling spirits back and forth. Balinor was curious, and Arthur was lonely. Many things were said, and many things were left unsaid. And though he was now aware of that aching empty space in his chest, the presence of the older man's spirit – his caring, his concern, his patience, his humor – was like a bite of bread or a sip of water to a starving boy.

And then his name came up a second time.

It didn't initially matter to Arthur, who was the living soul in the room awaiting Balinor's arrival. He was excited – in a vague, distant way; his heart-rate increased a single tick a minute, on the monitors in the small white room – to summon the spirit that had become like a friend.

Again he watched, again he listened, as no other could listen, focused on the quiet conversation amid the cacophony of the babble from the other rooms.

And to hear Balinor say his own name to the young man in the reclined seat– A surge of pure fierce _longing_ startled Arthur, and he found himself free from his own chair, momentarily and spiritually at least, in another small white room. Recognized, of course, from the screens before him all day long, whenever he bothered to open his eyes, but never inhabited by him, even in spirit.

The two would be angry, he expected, he had far overstepped his claim on friendship. Balinor would rage like his own father had raged, and…

The boy saw him first, from the chair for the living. Those astonished blue eyes connected to his own and called to him, and _summoned_ , like he himself did with the spirits of the dead. The boy's blue eyes coaxed, and didn't blame, and it gave him courage. Balinor's son was _special_ , too. And neither of them seemed to mind that he had interrupted, that he had used their precious time.

He knew he was not dead, like Balinor. He knew he was not alive like Merlin, who could stand and walk out of the room, away into the world, as far as he liked to go. But he felt connected to both.

And that gave him hope.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

For a week and a half, Merlin did piecemeal research when he wasn't otherwise occupied earning his living. The basement was a walk-out, so he could come and go as he pleased; paying rent to his mother and stepfather meant it was cheap for him and a nice extra income for them. His mother worried less than if he'd been on his own – or with Will – and he often shared rides with Gwen, if his assignment matched her shift.

"There was a thing in the news," Gwen remarked to him one morning as he threaded his old Ford beater-pickup through traffic toward the hospital at the city's heart. "Did you see? On the Penned Dragon."

"Yeah, I saw." He glanced in the side mirror before changing lanes. "Two of the prominent rival news anchors challenged each other to discover if the spirit-visits were for real, or just a mass superstition, a self-fulfilling prophecy."

"People see and hear whatever they expect," Gwen added, "and those who go skeptical, leave skeptical. What do you think? One of them said hypnosis – works on some people, not on others."

"I've never been hypnotized, so I can't compare," Merlin answered. Honestly, the thought made him sick to his stomach.

He stepped on the brake as the light a block ahead changed yellow, and the jerk in the car behind blared the horn, clearly of the opinion that Merlin ought to have accelerated through the caution.

"You said your dad gave you proof, though, right?" she continued, angling sideways in the passenger seat and playing with a curl that had come loose by one ear.

"Something I didn't know, but my mom did," Merlin said.

"How personal?"

Merlin wondered why she was so curious. "Story of how my dad proposed to her." She hummed, turning to look forward out the window. "Why?"

"Well…" she hesitated, set her jaw. "Could be, you heard that story when you were young, and just forgot? And remembered it under the influence of – whatever, in that place?"

Merlin slowed to make a turn, considering. He did instinctively want to defend his father as real, to his new sister, but what she said was reasonable, too. "I suppose it's possible," he said. He was also not sure he wanted to share the other bit of information he'd found out about Will's dad, because he wasn't sure which point of view that would support. "Why does it matter?"

"Because the Channel-Thirteen news has suggested that the claim of actual contact with the spirit world is a cover for a form of brain-washing."

Merlin made a rude noise, as the truck's tires bumped onto the ramp to the hospital's employee parking, and pointed out, "The whole thing might be a publicity stunt of some kind – maybe even Uther Flite's idea, free advertising. You think if Flite really had that kind of power, to brain-wash people, he'd even allow Channel Thirteen to make the accusation?"

Unless he allowed it as a form of proof that he _wasn't,_ to quiet suspicion so he could continue doing it… gosh, that sort of thinking hurt Merlin's head, though sometimes it was necessary in his line of work. But where did _skeptical_ cross the line to _paranoid_?

"Well, I mean, I don't know," Gwen said with a hint of exasperation. "You're the only one I know who's been there. Did your dad ask you to do anything for him, outside of that place?"

"No, he just –" Merlin paused, frowning a bit, taking the sharp turn down the aisle toward the elevators that would take her to the ward where she'd work her shift. "Just told me to think for myself, pretty much."

Though he had additional information on Will's parents, he couldn't see how that benefitted anyone. It seemed pretty clearly to support the idea that Will's dad and Balinor had met, on the spirit's side of the veil, and both of them had come forward to speak to their sons, too. Might be worth following up with Will, pin him down on what exactly had been said – if the stories matched, that was pretty good proof, too.

"Look," he said, braking and shifting the truck into park to let her out. "I'm pretty sure it was my dad. Whether all the spirits that show up are genuine, I don't know. But – something happened last time, I don't think was supposed to happen."

She shifted to face him in expectant silence, her eyes shining in the gloom of the parking level.

"There was a second spirit," Merlin said. "That's not supposed to happen, right? Only one at a time, and only the one you request. This was someone I didn't know – not someone dead, and apparently able to adjust his appearance, though he didn't say anything. My dad called him Arthur."

After a moment of startled silence, she said, "But who –"

"I did some research," he said. "The owner of the Penned Dragon is Uther Flite, the business tycoon?" She nodded; she was familiar with the name as he was. "He had a son named Arthur, about twenty-five years ago." Merlin could call about half a dozen photos of the little boy to his mind's eye from various archived articles he'd found. "His mother died in a car accident when he was five – business took a sharp downswing – then the next year, Arthur disappeared from public life. And the _next_ year, business is booming again. Including the fledgling endeavor, the Penned Dragon."

"People don't just disappear, Merlin," Gwen said practically, her eyes flicking to the trunk's console, the green digital readout of the time.

" 'Course not," he agreed easily. "And maybe the kid needed therapists and had tutors and was sent abroad to school. Maybe he was kept from the public for his own sake, growing up, and maybe it's still that way by his own choice. Or–"

"Oh, Merlin, I've got to go," she said. "Really, I'm going to be late. We can talk about it later if you like, but – do me a favor and be careful? I just… don't know what to think about that place or those people."

"Right," he said.

"Think about getting a partner," she said, opening the door and swinging one leg out first. "Someone who can watch your back – all the crazy and shifty things you get into."

"Hey!" he protested. She flashed him a grin as she slammed the door, which he returned through the passenger window. He waited while she waited for the elevator, then waved as the door jolted shut behind her.

Then waited a moment longer. He could find out more if he used – less conventional means. But would someone notice, was the question. Notice and do something about him. His father had given him more than one warning – and possibly contradictory ones. _Be careful. Use it wisely. Responsibly_. He had no official sanction to fall back on, either.

Poke the sleeping giant? That was the rub, wasn't it? If there was nothing to hide, it wouldn't matter. If there _was_ … exception would be taken. And he'd be in _way_ over his head.

Merlin anticipated an official contract from the local P.D., referred to him through Officer Lancelot. A small-time bank robber – worked alone and at night, stole nearly five million but never hurt anyone – had served his fifteen to twenty, and was due for release. Three-quarters of the money had never been recovered, and Merlin was set to tail the guy, and recover it, if at all possible.

But that wasn't til next week.

So after dropping Gwen off at the hospital for her shift, he drove to a once-pleasant now-seedy neighborhood, parked at the curb, and climbed the stoop to knock on the front door.

First month of autumn, so the screen was open for the breeze, and he could hear two female voices quarreling. Mother and daughter, he already knew.

"Well, I don't see why he always has to act like-"

"Like what? Like he owns the place? Because he does own the place, Flo!"

Flo was the daughter; Florence.

"Which is bull, Mom! I'm sure when Dad wrote his will, he wasn't thinking-"

"What? He wasn't thinking it was a son's duty to look after his ma? A brother's duty to take care of his sister?"

"That's so chauvinist! He has no right to-"

"Well, move out, then! Oh, that's right, you can't afford it unless you move in with your boyfriend – and ain't that chauvinist, too? Hi, Merlin."

"Morning, Nadine," he said, grinning and taking the door from her hand as she pushed it open. She was ample in her middle age and her floral-print housedress, gray in her thick black curls, but an unparalleled cook who held her tongue for no one.

Her daughter Florence – slightly thinner, heavily made-up and near Gwen's age - threw her hands in the air and vented her outrage in a burst of wordless irritation, "Oooh!" before stomping upstairs.

"Why d'you always come to the front?" Nadine inquired, as he followed her through the front room and toward the kitchen – which smelled of baking, sugar and chocolate. "He's said you can go right down, through the back, hasn't he?"

"Yes – but then I'd miss seeing you and Flo," Merlin protested.

" _Hearing_ us is more like, you skinny little scamp – help yourself to a cookie."

Merlin risked two, because it would be a compliment, giving her another grin as he pulled open the door that hid the stairway to the basement.

"And tell him no one's bringing his lunch down to him!" Nadine shouted when he was a third of the way down the steps.

Wood paneling on slanted ceiling and walls, warmed yellow-brown by the bare light-bulbs strung together with sheathed wiring, dark painted steps that all creaked.

A voice from below shouted up, "Tell her I'm not hungry anyway!"

Merlin left her muttering, "Yeah, yeah," and stepped off the bottom stair.

His friend's basement apartment was not like his at all – no carpets and books and handmade quilt on the bed. No bed, actually. Unfinished walls with exposed studwork and electrical, massive fold-out couch that hardly ever got folded out, worn fuzzy blanket with a dark bamboo pattern that was never spread or rolled neatly, a variety of vaguely uniform-ish clothing on hangers over a wire nailed across a corner. In the opposite corner, enclosed ¾ bath and the door to the stifled backyard.

And the other half of the open area was a veritable cave of screens and wires, boxes and cables and touchpads and keyboards, arranged on and in and around a small kitchen table, a buffet, and an ancient black entertainment center. Before this set-up hunched a figure in a rolling desk-chair, dressed in an electrician's jumpsuit and combat boots, his curly dark hair wild like he'd just rolled off his couch-bed.

"That's not true, though, is it?" Merlin said, perching on one of the couch's arms and taking a bite of the first cookie – walnut and chocolate chip.

Gwaine grunted a question, clicking and tapping and switching his attention from one screen to another. Merlin had long ago learned not to read over his shoulder, so to speak; it gave him a headache trying to follow what Gwaine did, and not knowing protected both of them. One screen had a video playing – music video, it looked like, without the sound – one screen was scrolling through lines of code or digital information on its own. Another flashed images of a comprehensive search for something that included faces and vehicles, while a fourth showed what looked a five-handed poker game in progress.

"Tha' you're no' hungry?" Merlin added, purposefully garbling his words with the remainder of the cookie.

Gwaine swiveled in the chair; Merlin raised his eyebrows and the second chocolate-chip-walnut in offering.

"What do you want?" he asked, kicking the rolling desk-chair away from his set-up, coasting across the swept concrete floor toward Merlin. "Oh, wait, I remember – you only love me for my untraceable connections."

"Yeah, but I pay you well," Merlin responded, tapping the cookie against the air just short of Gwaine's hand.

Gwaine grunted again, grabbing it and stuffing it in his mouth. "Next time, bring a sandwich," he grumbled around the crumbs. "What do you want?"

"An hour with your system?" Merlin said. "And I'll owe you the sandwich."

"Set me up with your sister and we'll call it even," Gwaine suggested, dismounting the chair and spinning it for Merlin's use.

"Not a chance."

"Marry mine, then?" Merlin snickered, and Gwaine grinned, following him back to the bank of computer equipment. "What do you need?"

"Can't tell you details…" Merlin wondered if he'd endangered Gwen, saying Arthur's name to her. Well, as long as he himself stayed out of trouble… And he wasn't sure if there even was trouble to stay out of. "I want to trace the kid of a rich guy, our age now, stepped off the public scene twenty-plus years ago. See where he is now, what he's doing."

"Kidnapping?" Gwaine said, reaching to tap at the keyboard on the left. The screens flashed dark, then active again.

"I doubt it. No news of an untimely death I could find reported, either."

"Hm. Well, rich guy's name _here_ will get you family history – last known location of the kid will start generating possible destinations over here – and photo _here_ will age-progress it and run facial-rec on as wide a net as you like. Airports, bus terminals, overseas? It'll even hijack all active cameras in an area if you clarify the boundaries of geographical coordinates."

"That'll do fine, for a start," Merlin said, leaning forward to focus.

 _Uther Flite._

Screens popped open, layering themselves on two of the monitors, and Merlin began his research, scanning information and gradually releasing _himself_ into the system.

Sixth sense. His own search engine. A hundred years ago they'd have called it witchcraft. For Merlin it meant, intuition was immediate and certain, truth and falsehood as clear as if they'd been written with differently-colored inks. At the Penned Dragon, he wondered if he'd have _known_ his father, letting that sense rove – and if he'd have been discovered, then.

Here and now, it meant that he knew what was irrelevant, and what to pursue without hesitation, or need for corroborating keystrokes.

It wasn't something he needed to use for every case. But probably something he needed to hide from whoever might come looking at his own computer at home. And so, sometimes when there was a deadline of importance, life or death or something comparable, he'd come to Gwaine's system and… unleash himself.

So… Uther Flite. Only child, parents deceased. Marriage license, thirty years ago, Ygraine Dubois. Her parents deceased, two brothers, neither married, one deceased. No point of contact between Uther and the brother-in-law older than twenty years… Though they had invested steadily with each other, mainly real estate deals, before that. Hm.

Birth certificate. Arthur James Flite. Entered at age 4 into an early childhood preparatory school that promised the cream of the teaching crop and a five to one student-teacher ratio through the elementary grades.

Merlin snorted to himself – _nice work if you can get it_ – before he remembered the childlike spirit huddled behind his father in the crystal well at the Penned Dragon.

Then the information about Ygraine Flite's accident – fairly straightforward; late night and wet roads and a drunk driver at a crossroads. The guy had done a few years of prison, caught a nasty virus and passed away there. Then the subsequent nosedive of Uther's businesses, through passive neglect rather than active mishandling, Merlin guessed. Arthur had been removed from the prep school halfway through first grade, Uther had bought out his brother-in-law and severed contact…

And the Penned Dragon.

Profit and revenue from the other businesses had been ruthlessly squeezed into the new venture. Shaky beginning, a handful of popular celebrity endorsements, including the CEO of the news station defending Uther in the ongoing media debate, as well as an assistant DA, the city's chairperson on economics, and the lead singer of one of the most successful local rock bands. After that, growth and development and stability and expansion.

Magazine articles, scientific and otherwise, wherein a Dr. E. Morgause defended the validity of the Penned Dragon with a mixture of psychology and physics Merlin didn't have the education to follow. He did note that she seemed to answer queries in general, rather than specific terms. Theoretical, not practical information. Trade secrets, presumably.

No mention of Arthur past that interrupted first grade. No sign that he'd been passed off to the uncle as an obvious surrogate. No police report for injuries or missing persons. No hits from the age-progressed facial rec, and the location possibilities multiplied exponentially, ponderously – but yielded nothing, either.

Which meant he'd been kept _very_ close to home. And if he'd run away, it hadn't been reported, or caught on any camera Merlin could think of – unless he'd been seriously disfigured and the recognition program didn't catch him, but-

 _Arthur hasn't died, but his spirit isn't tethered to his body the same way yours is, not in this place… Arthur's the reason any of this is possible…_

"How about financials?" Merlin said, swiveling the chair around.

Gwaine was lounging nearly horizontal on his couch, paging through a copy of _International Journal of Computer Vision._ He glanced up at Merlin – took a second to focus – then heaved himself up and padded over to type in a series of commands. Or a single very complicated one; Merlin couldn't tell the difference.

"Uther Flite?" Gwaine commented. "You're about to pick some very deep pockets there, my friend."

"I'm not picking," Merlin corrected. "I'm checking."

Gwaine humphed, but remained standing behind Merlin as he coaxed his friend's system to tell him the truth. "You said you're… tracing the kid of a rich guy. That's Uther, right?"

Merlin hummed agreement, beginning his search with the month of Arthur's removal from the prep school. No other academic records, which meant – added employees for tutor and nanny. He found the two, background-checked them with no notable twitches of sixth-sense, then cast forward in the bank records.

Tutor laid off six months later, nanny retained another three months… by then the Penned Dragon had serviced its initial clients in the small boxy building that used to stand where they'd built the dome-shaped structure.

"Wait – how did you just do that?" Gwaine demanded. "That's not financials, that's–"

Merlin's heart thudded once. But he trusted Gwaine, so he said lightly, "Magic. Duh."

"Well. Ask a stupid question…"

"If you're going to ask questions at all, go sit down," Merlin advised, his spine straightening with the tingle that told him – _something's up, there's a case here_. "And I'll actually pay you."

Gwaine shut up and remained standing just behind Merlin.

Five months after the tutor's severance, he had a coronary – at age 29. And two months after the nanny parted company with Uther Flite, her neck was broken in a skiing accident. No other registered employees with any background in childcare, or elementary education.

On a hunch, Merlin tracked Dr. Morgause's connection with Uther Flite – to a week before the tutor's heart attack.

"That's crazy coincidental," Gwaine remarked. And he wasn't joking. "How are you-" He cut himself off. "Fine, fine, no questions. But I thought I was the expert hacker…"

Merlin wondered how much his friend was picking up from his research. Gwaine was a genius who preferred to surf leaning way over the side of legal – hence his untraceable system – but from what Merlin knew, he was more like a modern-day Robin Hood than a threat to national security. Bank transfers from the big numbers to the little numbers, and veterans found their funding in time for the necessary operation, and widows and orphans discovered anonymous donations when the insurance policy fell through on a technicality.

"You are," Merlin responded absently. "I just love you for your system, remember? A P.I.'s lonely desktop could not… handle… this."

However. The Penned Dragon employed more than Dr. Morgause and a dozen hostess-receptionists. There was a team of personnel with various degrees, medical as well as scientific – philosophy? astrology? – and maybe that was for the quarter-percent of the population who experienced side effects from their visit.

Those waivers he and Will had signed.

It occurred to him to balance those paychecks against the going rate for an hour's session, multiplied by – what, at least twelve rooms? – and a very conservative eight hours a day… Of course, there would be bills for the building maintenance – but then again, additional hours and higher rates for specialized requests… and that wasn't to mention also the fees the smaller office charged for checking specific spiritual presence on the dead side of the veil.

Ye gods. Cash cow, for sure.

Gwaine reached over his shoulder, hit two keys, and every screen went blank. And maybe it was because he assumed from Merlin's inactivity that he was done, but Merlin spun the chair, frowning, to find that Gwaine had the same – uncharacteristic – look on his face.

"Is this for a job?" Gwaine asked him. "Because I guarantee, they're not paying you enough."

Merlin couldn't bring himself to say, _It isn't. It's personal_.

"The folks I fool with," Gwaine told him seriously, pointing behind Merlin at the blank screens for emphasis. "They'll arrest me, throw my butt in prison, flush the key down the sewer. But that mess? Uther Flite? You start trying to dig up dirt on him, he will bury you in pieces. Literally."

"You said this is untraceable," Merlin reminded him, half-skeptical of the hacker's concern.

"It is. But if they're tipped off someone's looking, they may find you another way. Merlin. I don't want to freak you, but. Please do think about your sister. Your mom and step-dad. And be _careful_ , think about what you're doing very hard."

Merlin relaxed back in the chair, and did his friend the courtesy of obeying. Gwaine was right about Uther, hypothetically – and actually, if the tutor and the nanny weren't coincidence - the man could probably ruin Merlin and his family without doing anything provably illegal. Funding and connections – and Merlin's consisted of one cop and a couple of middle-aged junior secretaries at the city records' storage. A couple of bail-bondsmen, half the pawn-brokers in the city, and a dealer or two.

In a courtroom, he'd stand no chance against Uther Flite – he had no evidence and no one to bring it for him, and little concrete idea what accusation to make, anyway.

Out of a courtroom…

 _The Channel-Thirteen news has suggested that the claim of actual contact with the spirit world is a cover for a form of brain-washing…_ For what purpose? Didn't make sense? Possibility?

 _He might need us_ , Balinor had said.

Merlin had enough padding in his own bank account for another half-hour's trip. And if he didn't get some concrete answers – what help does Arthur need, where is he and in what condition – he was going to decide, _say goodbye_.

"I'll be careful," Merlin said.

Gwaine scoffed. " _Careful_ doesn't go into private investigating."

"I'll think hard, then." Merlin's phone buzzed a silent notification in his jeans' pocket.

"Do it twice," Gwaine told him. "I mean it. You're, like, my only friend."

"Yeah…" Merlin snorted, retrieving his phone. It was Gwen's number. Why was she calling from work in the middle of her shift? He thumbed the green icon to accept the call. "Gwen? What's-"

"Where are you, right now? What are you doing?"

"Um – research," Merlin answered, but her voice sounded odd, like she was concentrating on keeping it even. "What's going on?"

"Can you come… down here, please? To the hospital? Right away."

Merlin was on his feet, Gwaine's eyebrows up as he caught the sense of emergency. "What happened? Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine."

"Is my mother-"

"She's fine. Dad's fine."

But _someone_ wasn't; Merlin's heart dropped to his stomach, and the tension of displacement drew his throat tight. "Gwen, what… _Who_ -"

"It's your friend, Merlin…"

He sucked in a breath, knowing already – knowing, and resisting.

"It's Will. He's here, in the ER. Come as soon as you can?"

 **A/N: Gwaine's magazine comes from Wikipedia's list of scientific journals, b/c it sounded good. Also, I'm 95% sure we'll catch back up to the opening section of chapter 1, next chapter. For now, make do with Gwaine! and Merlin &Arthur first contact!**


	3. Between Emergencies

**Chapter 3: Between Emergencies**

Rachel was working the receiving desk when Merlin strode through the ER doors, impatient with how slowly the automatic sensors responded. Rachel had curly almost-red hair and over-large front teeth, and she knew Merlin too, enough to recognize him.

"Gwen called me," Merlin informed her, speaking out hurriedly before he'd even reached the desk. "She said a friend of mine was here?"

"Yeah – your friend's name, again?"

"Will Hascall," Merlin said. "Gwen wouldn't tell me on the phone, what happened or how badly hurt…"

All he could think was, on the job accident. HVAC tech, something to do with his hands, and maybe he'd need someone else to provide at-home follow-up care – or maybe he was between couches and needed-

"Oh," Rachel said, a sigh of discovery and sympathy that didn't reassure him, somehow. "His mother is with him now – I suppose you can go through – I'll try to find Gwen." She left her seat – cushioned, wheeled, and swiveling – and disappeared through the back door of her area momentarily to open the side door from the ER waiting room to the long corridor of curtained treatment alcoves for him.

"Thanks."

Merlin stepped through the door, and as she turned to re-enter the receiving-triage area, he glimpsed Gwen twenty paces down the hall, just rounding the corner of the nurses' station. He started toward her – she noticed him and pushed away from the high counter, clipboard in hand – and he was distracted by the dry-desperate sounds of an older woman in deep anguish, physical or emotional.

" _O'r arglwydd… O'r arglwydd_ … Oh, my boy. Oh, poor boy. What have I done… what have I… _O'r arglwydd_ …"

He knew that phrase, be it curse or prayer; he'd heard it before, from one woman. Will's mother – and he halted, caught by the scene only half-hidden behind one of the mauve-colored privacy curtain that separated the hallway from the ER treatment rooms.

Mrs. Hascall was half-collapsed onto a waist-high gurney-bed, and a sheet-covered figure, weeping. At the head of the bed, a male nurse apologetically removed sensors and wires – the screen behind him showed two green lines and one red. All flat.

Merlin's heart tipped off the ledge of apprehension, free-falling.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry, I was going to try to catch you and talk to you before - Merlin, I'm so sorry." Gwen's arms around his ribs, distantly felt. Gwen's hair brushing against his chin, fragrant.

"He's –" Merlin couldn't say the word. The male nurse in the room rolled up the wires and stowed them; at the touch of a button the flat-lined monitor went black.

"Do you want to sit down?" Gwen asked.

He felt incapable of answering, the answer completely meaningless anyway. His eyes were fixed to the motionless profile of his best friend, prone on the gurney-bed. "Just tell me."

"The guy he was staying with called nine-one-one," Gwen informed him, efficient but compassionate, reverting from sister to nurse. "He was non-responsive – they brought him in anyway, they got a pulse started in the ambulance for a few minutes… They said, there was an empty bottle of anti-depressants. And a note."

"No," Merlin said; everything seemed surreally wrong. A bad dream – irrationally he felt like laughing to dispel the mood because it was impossible. "He wouldn't. He…"

The male nurse said something to Mrs. Hascall, whose sobs had calmed somewhat. She lifted herself, head tilted to look at Will's face – she reached to touch him – then rounded the foot of the gurney to head unsteadily for the doorway. Behind her, the male nurse pulled the sheet up to cover Will's face – and she saw Merlin. Her steps gained purpose and her expression intensified from grief to rage in a matter of seconds.

"You! What the hell are you doing here? You have no right - This is your fault!"

"Ma'am, please!" Gwen exclaimed, trying to catch the woman's arms, in embrace or restraint.

She got in a few good thumps of her fists against Merlin's chest and arms, though; he felt the blows through a shield of numb disbelief.

"You took him to that place!" the older woman continued, a furious sort of emptiness showing in her eyes. "That damn place that filled his head with lies and turned him against me – my boy, my baby, my only…"

Merlin was in shock, more than a bit, himself. Otherwise he might not have opened his mouth and said, "You killed his father. And lied to him about it for years. And when he found out the truth-"

"Damn you," she said passionately, her wrinkled hands still forming fists though Gwen's strong encircling arms kept her elbows at her sides. "I did what I did for Will's sake. For my sake, for freedom from that man and his stupid drugs and his throwing away of money we needed, for Will. I did it for him, all of it, and we were better off, we were – but then you took him to that place-"

A thought crossed Merlin's mind, incurious and unhurried. _I wonder how many of this city's suicides are ex-patrons of the Penned Dragon._

"Calm down, Mrs. Hascall," Gwen was saying soothingly. "I'll walk you down to the cafeteria, you can have a cup of coffee or something…" She gave Merlin a glance that said, _I'm worried about you, but, priorities_ , and began to lead the tear-stained mother away.

The male nurse came out of the room, yanking on the curtain to close it, and hurried away. Mrs. Hascall's sobs diminished.

Merlin parted the curtain enough to slip through. Approached the bed, and reached to draw the sheet back. It still didn't seem real, as though he were enacting Ghost-of-Christmas-Future scenes for a holiday play.

But it was really Will. And utterly, unnaturally immobile.

He should say something. He wanted to say something, but it seemed stupid to talk to Will's body, after his experiences actually speaking with a departed spirit.

The curtain's runners clattered metallically again, and Merlin turned to see an EMT in dark-blue uniform and ball cap, chewing a wad of gum. He said, "Merlin Emrys?"

It took him a moment to respond, and when he did, his voice felt and sounded rusty. "Yeah?"

"They said I could give you this. We brought it for evidence, but they've made copies, and so…" He shrugged, holding out a folded piece of paper. "Sorry for your loss, man. That's rough."

Merlin extended his own hand and accepted the paper, and stared at it while the EMT exited again with a query for someone outside – partner, maybe – if they were ready to head out on the next run. The partner's response drew a chuckle from the tech.

He stood and stared and the clock on the wall ticked its count of passing seconds, and it began to feel like Will was waiting. So Merlin unfolded the page.

 _Dear Merlin_. Emrys, someone else had written, for the further clarification of those who'd passed the last missive along to its intended recipient.

 _I've already swallowed the bottle, so I can't talk myself out of it, in writing this. I'm not sorry for doing it – I'm so sick of feeling how I feel and knowing what I know. And I'm done hurting – I know that much stops when you die, my dad told me._

 _But I am sorry for making you feel the way I know you're going to feel, reading this. Because I know you, Merlin. You're a helluva good friend I never deserved. None better. Nothing you could've done, you got me? This was all me, my decision, on my own. Don't know if you've figured out how screwed up my family is, but, there ain't no future after murder._

 _Which I don't mean as a joke._

Merlin wondered if Will's mother had been shown this note.

 _Don't come to the Penned Dragon for me, or I'll be pissed and kick your ghost ass on the other side when it's your turn to cross over. Just don't. That's why I'm writing this, so you don't have to ask why, or tell me I'm stupid – man, I know it already – or say you could've done anything for my life. I know you would've. But it couldn't have been enough. It wasn't your problem to fix._

 _So, anyway. Goodbye and good luck, my friend. Don't forget me at least – but make another, better friend to take my place. Cuz you deserve that._

 _All the best,_

 _Will Hascall._

…..*….. …..*…... …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Balinor was absent.

Nothing remarkable about that; he wasn't present all of the time anyway. But Arthur noticed, just as he noticed the tension that seemed to quiver in the man's spirit even through the veil separating them.

 _What's wrong. Did something happen? What happened?_

 _A new spirit arrived. Merlin's best friend, from when he was a little boy._

Memories and images leaked to Arthur's mind, of a skinny young boy with a mop of black hair, always in company with a more solid boy with disheveled sandy-colored hair. Running cars on the rugs in the kitchen, swinging on adjacent seats at the park, walking along the sidewalk with bookbags over their shoulders, sitting outside the window on the fire escape to gaze out at the city.

Talking, laughing, teasing, arguing.

It made Arthur's heart ache. He couldn't remember his own friends from kindergarten – one tall boy with buck teeth, one short boy with floppy dark hair and glasses – but it was a rare treasure, he thought, to grow up with a best friend and keep that person close into adulthood.

He would never have a friend like that. And Balinor's son Merlin had lost his, and Arthur ached.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

By the day after Will's funeral – Mrs. Hascall refused to speak to him, or Gwen or Hunith – Merlin had his mind made up on at least one more trip to the Penned Dragon. In spite of Will's admonition and Gwen's caution and Gwaine's warning. How could he do his job and be good at doing his job, if he gave up at the first hint of discomfort or risk?

No, the real question was, how long should he wait before going back. He had no idea how often other ordinary people went, whether they saw the same person, but he'd be an idiot to think the Penned Dragon didn't record names and dates in a way that could be searched and organized. He didn't want to tip his hand or set off any internal alarms – _hey check this guy out, back again this month_ …

Then again, he couldn't forget his father saying, _He might need us_ …

Three days passed. The bank robber's release was delayed due to a clerical error, and Merlin found himself between cases.

He also found the gnawing hole that had opened in him in that surreal moment of admitting Will's death - that had grown to stand beside his coffin, still and closed - was still growing. Not to be filled by quietly sympathetic evenings when his mother cooked his favorite meals and his stepfather and sister tried to be comforting with their presence and support. Not to be filled by Lancelot's condolences and offer of – well, anything, really, whatever he needed – nor by Gwaine's invitation to dinner, or just dessert if he wanted. And maybe to – awkwardly spoken – play video games online or something.

"How'd you even know?" Merlin asked blankly.

"Read a bit in the news. Noticed the timing of your phone call, that day you were here. Took a peek at your school records. So if you want to – hang out, and not talk about it…"

"I'll think about it," he said.

But, back he went to the Penned Dragon instead, after dropping Gwen at the hospital for her shift. Focus on someone else and their problems, rather than his own.

Signing their indemnity waivers, following the blonde girl – _a different one again, how frequent is the turnover here_ – click-click of the lighter wand and the candle was alive. The door closed, the pulse oximeter in place. The crystals watching him, the smoke wafting sickly-sweet.

"Merlin."

His body resting in the reclined chair, his head propped against the plastic-protected back, Merlin looked at the figure of his father – casual clothes, no shoes, hands in his pockets and his long curly hair wild as ever. The look of concern and compassion that was just too much; Merlin held his breath but couldn't stop the tears that escaped.

"Oh, son. I'm so sorry."

"You – you know that-"

"Yeah, I know about Will. He's here – I ripped him a good one for how he did it, though, hurting the people he left behind. Hurting you."

Merlin tried to nod, to compose himself. His voice was rough; he cleared his throat. "How… how does he seem?"

Balinor rubbed a thoughtful hand over his beard. "Okay, I think. He's been with his dad…"

"That's good," Merlin managed. "That's good."

"Merlin… Over here, there's nothing for the five senses. Nothing to do…"

He remembered how keen his father had been to be busy with his hands, always, even at night after his work shift. He'd gone through a whittling stage – Merlin still had a rough fist-sized dragon that he'd made. He'd gone through an origami stage.

"You have a chance to reconnect with people who've gone before, meet others, y'know. But people who were quarrelsome and dissatisfied with their lot in life don't find it any better, over here. Plenty of those kind, who thought they were going to a better place. To an eternal reward. There's no time here, no need to eat or reason to work… I wouldn't say it's better, only different."

Merlin smiled suddenly. "Is this your talk on, don't let Will influence me too much? He's a nice kid, but sometimes makes thoughtless choices?"

Balinor's expression eased into a rueful grin. "Yeah, I suppose it is."

"No worries, dad. I'm not in a hurry to see behind the curtain…" He was still disappointed about Will's choice, and believed he'd made the wrong one, though he understood the feelings that had prompted it. He was glad his friend wasn't regretful or miserable, but that brought him to the primary reason for his visit. "But I did some research, like you said, about… the keeper of the veil?"

"Have you?" He couldn't tell if his father was glad or troubled; Balinor seemed undecided on that score, himself.

"What sort of help does he need, specifically? Where is he?"

"I've met his mother," Balinor said.

And suddenly a second figure coalesced and detached from the older man's big figure, chin level with Balinor's shoulder – blue eyes focused silently, intently, on Merlin's father.

Who said softly, "No, I didn't tell you that, did I?" His body still angled toward the second spirit, Balinor looked at Merlin. "When Arthur's mother died, he discovered that he could call her back. Anywhere, anytime – when his father found out, the trouble started. He demanded that Arthur produce the spirit of his wife and keep her present in their home for hours on end in the evenings and weekends, as if they were still a complete family."

Merlin remembered thousands of nights, dinner at the kitchen table in their apartment – Balinor laughing out loud, Hunith smiling pink-cheeked and bright-eyed, and Merlin himself squirming with pleasure to be part of it. Stories of construction sites and customers in the market where Hunith worked, and spelling bees…

He remembered too, the nights when he and his mother sat down alone. When the same food seemed to stick in his throat and Hunith ate next to nothing, catching tears on the cuff of her sweater like she hoped Merlin wouldn't notice. And the silence pressed the air from his lungs with its weight and their loss.

Honestly, had he the same talent, he wasn't sure he wouldn't have used it, too.

Then again, if they'd kept bringing Balinor's spirit back to their apartment for companionship, maybe Hunith wouldn't have struck up half a dozen conversations with the lonely widower who stopped by the market where she worked, on his way home from the factory where he was employed as an engineer. Maybe she wouldn't have agreed to meet him for a cup of coffee on the weekends – or asked him and his adult daughter over for a home-cooked meal. And Merlin wouldn't know how it felt to have a sibling, and Hunith wouldn't have been able to plant flowers outside their new suburban home, and maybe Balinor himself would have been miserable to see them struggle financially without him…

Merlin opened his mouth and said, "Those who are grieving can't heal, if their lost loved ones are continually called back," as though it had come from outside of him.

The Arthur-spirit, still looking at Balinor, made a gesture toward Merlin at once pleading and defiant, as if to say, _See? He gets it_ …

"You're very right." Balinor gave Merlin a sympathetic look. "Not many people agree with you, though – or at least, enough people disagree to make this place very lucrative for its owner."

Pieces began to snap together in Merlin's mind. _He's selling his son's ability. And he started when Arthur was maybe eight years old_ – not old enough to know any better. And no other tutors, and no other nannies, and no accounts of Arthur enjoying the fruits of his labor at all.

"You're being forced," he said to Arthur's spirit gently. "And you want help breaking away from your father's business, and achieving your independence."

Arthur's spirit looked up at Balinor.

"It's a bit more than that, son," he said soberly. "I honestly have no idea how you might go about this. Making the public aware of how this place works? I know there's laws against what Uther's doing – unlawful imprisonment, for one, though Uther might argue the case of Arthur's dependence…"

"You mean, claim mental incompetence?" Merlin asked.

That was a gray area, as far as the law was concerned – there had to be a strong advocate to prove competent independence because otherwise the courts usually just took the parents' or hired medical professionals' word for level of personal capability. And to remove Arthur from his father's supervision and control for long enough to get an objective evaluation would require… the sort of authority he didn't have, and couldn't call on.

"Will says you're a good P.I.," Balinor said. "I'm sure you can find evidence, witnesses…"

Merlin was not sure. Not on his own, not without a rich and, or powerful employer. He couldn't forget that tutor and the nanny, and Gwaine's warning. If he started questioning employees – those who didn't know wouldn't be of any use, and those who did know… had a vested interest in keeping the Dragon Penned, so to speak.

"What about your uncle?" Merlin said to Arthur. "Would he be willing to-"

Arthur's spirit shook his head vigorously – shrinking, terrified. Merlin had no idea what was behind that severance of contact between Arthur's father and his brother-in-law, but whatever it was, it wasn't worth disturbing.

"Okay, never mind," Merlin said hastily. "We'll leave him out of it."

Arthur quieted, at the size of a five-year-old. He reached up and took a pinch of the hem of Balinor's shirt for comfort.

"The news channels are doing a thing now," Merlin thought aloud. "If I can't bring the case to the courts, maybe the media…"

Arthur yanked on his hold of Balinor's shirt, breaking their eye contact when Balinor looked down at him.

"Sorry, son – time to go," he said swiftly. "Whatever you decide, good luck – and be careful."

Careful _doesn't go into private investigation_ , Merlin thought, with a wry grin to himself.

Above his head, the fan in the ceiling vent whirred to life to draw the fragrant, hypnotic smoke upwards. The two spirits, turning their backs, began to dissipate – and Arthur cast a glance over his shoulder of pure unhappy loneliness.

The look pierced Merlin's heart straight to his soul.

 _He felt the same_. After Will left, that day and each day since, though the echo was slower to sound on remembrance, and fading. He felt the same.

Merlin reached out his hand, like _Come back_ , or maybe _Take me with you_ – and a ghostly duplicate rose from his skin, moving away from flesh and blood. Decidedly odd. And maybe why his father had warned him about this place.

The crystals… _You and I are not exactly normal._

But he felt light as a feather, and curious. Arthur was still looking back, as the last wisps vanished.

Merlin vaulted from the chair, aware that he was leaving his body behind, and leaped to try to catch hold of either spirit. The crystals screamed – nearly soundlessly, a high-pitched whine of disapproval and alarm – and Merlin passed right through the wall.

Momentum stopped with shock.

There were no spirits, no departing Balinor and little Arthur, no visible curtains. Bustling workers – technical or medical - dressed in professional white jackets, around a bank of screens and keypads that made Gwaine's set-up look like a seventh-grade science project.

And in the middle, another recliner and another man. Absolutely motionless, his skin nearly the color of his snowy scrubs – barefoot, barely breathing – strapped to the chair with wide mental-patient bands and buckles. Dozens of sensors and wires attached to his body, linking him to the bank of screens, to the room itself – arms, legs, torso. Crawling all over his shaven scalp like a cap. And some of them included smaller bits of the same sort of crystal that trapped the spirit in the meeting-rooms.

The man's eyes opened, and he looked at Merlin. It was Arthur.

 _He was in pain. He was weary of living. He was pinned and penned and tied and drugged not to resist and the pressure to obey – to be docile, always, to call the names that were presented, at the time they were required, again and again and again and again-_

Merlin was dizzy with realization and sick at heart to know that he'd done it, too, he'd come to have his father's spirit called back from the dead.

Arthur looked at him and his expression was lax and not a single muscle twitched – and his eyes keened with agony.

The shriek of the crystals grew in intensity, and the room seemed to vibrate, but no one else noticed. Merlin's eardrums ached with increasing pressure.

And he was yanked backwards, through the solid unmarked wall, falling to the floor-

Where a young man was thumping his chest fit to break a rib. Blonde hair brushed Merlin's face as lips closed over his and fingers pinched his nose shut, and the girl's air entered his lungs, warm and filling.

He was so heavy. He couldn't move.

"Don't stop," the girl ordered. Thump-thump-thump-

"Come on, dammit!" the young man panted.

"It's been seven minutes since I called nine-one-one." She interrupted herself to blow another breath into his lungs. "They should be here in another two minutes or so…"

Merlin felt very cold, and his skin itched, and the world swam away into an impressionist watercolor.

* * *

 _(Now)_

Someone said his name.

Gasped his name, in a shock of recognition. A female voice, familiar as a sister.

"Merlin? Omigosh, Merlin! No, let me take this one - what happened to him, do we know?"

He heard other voices. _Seizure. Loss of consciousness. Cardiac arrhythmia_.

"Can you hear me? Merlin?"

He blinked – bright lights flashed by above him, head-to-foot, head-to-foot. The sensation of movement said to him, gurney… hospital. The clear, cold scent of oxygen through a tube… which sparked a bit of concern – until he heard her voice again, saw her brown eyes full of worry for him, and knew he didn't have to.

Gwen would take care of him. Best damn nurse he knew. Only nurse he knew, damn or otherwise.

He closed his eyes again.

Someone else said. _BP's falling. Give 'im twenty CCs of_ –

Gwen said, clearly and heart-broken, "What happened to him?"

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

 _Is he there._

Balinor responded with a patient negative.

But they'd taken his son out of the Penned Dragon, so Arthur couldn't see or sense him anymore. The only way he'd know if something _happened_ was…

 _Is he there._

Another negative, combined with the reassurance that Balinor would communicate to him through the veil, if his son died because of what had happened, what had gone wrong at the close of their session - and his spirit crossed.

 _Okay. Okay._

In the meantime, another name. And then another. At the Penned Dragon, life – and death – went on.

Went on, and on, and on…

Arthur's heart-rate was one beat per minute faster than normal, and it was so noted on the clipboards, and no one cared.

 _Is he there? I don't want him to be there. It would be my fault, and he should live, your son who doesn't have his friend anymore, he should live…_

 _Yeah, he should. And so far he is…_

 _I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have… Is he there._

 _No, he's not here. Merlin's alive, boy. Calm down. I promised I would tell you, didn't I?_

 _Okay._

 _…_

 _Is he there?_

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

"I saw him."

Merlin said the words before he was fully conscious; he woke with them tumbling from his lips, his first thought before he was even coherent.

"What? Merlin? What did you say? Who did you see?"

He struggled to open his eyes – he was so tired – and wasn't sure he'd succeeded, seeing only uniform white. Movement – he blinked, and dropped his eyes from the ceiling to the worried eyes of his step-sister.

Oh, yeah. Hospital.

"What happened?" he croaked.

Gwen took a moment to thumb his eyelids up and study his eyes, and check the monitor above him and to the left. "The doctor was going to talk to you," she said, and it wasn't an answer.

"Hey," he said, unsure why she was being so clinical. It was a little unnerving; he wondered if something was seriously wrong with him. "Gwen?"

"Omi _gosh_ , Merlin," she burst out, like she wanted to hit him in the shoulder, but wouldn't while he was prone in a hospital bed. Her dark eyes glistened with tears, though, which took him aback. "Don't you ever scare me like that again, you hear me? I thought you were going to… You almost died. I called your mom."

"Omi _gosh_ ," he repeated, finding enough energy to tease her a bit.

She huffed a laugh, dabbing at the corners of her eyes. "It's not funny. You had a coronary artery spasm."

He said intelligently, "Huh?"

"A heart attack. Even though your arteries aren't blocked. They've taken blood to test –" She gestured and he noticed the needle taped to the back of his hand, currently dripping IV solution into his veins. "They'll keep an eye on your electrocardiogram readouts, and probably do an MRI when you're able, before they release you."

Merlin remembered leaving his body, passing through the wall, seeing Arthur strapped into a chair of his own to helplessly facilitate the business of the Penned Dragon. Heart spasm – yeah.

He hummed, shifting slightly in a search for comfort on the thin mattress and awkward angle and flat pillow and insufficient blanket.

"I want to make you promise me something," she said, setting her jaw in a way that said she was preparing to be stubborn, but didn't want to cause offense.

"If I can," he said, starting to feel like a nap might be a good idea. At least til his mom arrived at the hospital. Evidently having a heart attack was exhausting.

"Don't go back to that place," she told him. He frowned, not quite following, and she clarified, "The Penned Dragon. Was it Will that you saw? Dr. Stevenson said there's talk of getting up a study of the effects of that place, frequent visits or regular visits over a long period of time, like it might be bad for your health and _Merlin_. You just had a heart attack, and you're not even twenty-five."

"I hear you, Gwen," he said, not bothering to correct her assumption of who he meant when he'd said, _I saw him_. "And if it makes you feel better, I won't go back there to see Will. Or my father, probably."

What he was going to do, would take a lot of thought. A lot of clear, careful thought – which he probably wasn't capable of, at the moment.

"Wake me when my mom comes?" he said drowsily. Blinking made him want to stop, and just leave his eyes closed.

"She'll probably do that herself," Gwen said, and a bit of humor entered her voice – along with relief, he thought. "But – yeah, I will. Go ahead and get some rest – my shift is over, but I'll stay with you, too."

"You're the best," he said, around a yawn.

"Til today, I'd have said the same about you," she told him tartly.

"Yep. I'm a terrible younger brother, worrying the life out of you…" He yawned again, and didn't bother opening his eyes.

He felt her strong capable hand smoothing his hair away from his forehead, and a sisterly kiss dropped there. "I'm glad you still have time to practice…"

 **A/N: "O'r arglwydd", I'm told by online translators, is Welsh for "Oh my God"…**

 **So we're caught up to the opening of chapter 1. And I want to disclaim this view of the afterlife – it works for this story, but it's not something I believe in, personally.**


	4. A Quixotic First Date

**Chapter 4: A Quixotic First Date**

Hunith came to the hospital, and Tom, and it wasn't as bad as Merlin expected – just a repetition of what Gwen had already said. _You scared us – we were worried – don't go there again._

And he promised, not to go to the Penned Dragon to talk to his father, or to Will. They seemed to take it for granted that he'd gone to ask his father about his friend – and he had, so it was good to leave it at that. Gwen didn't seem to remember they'd discussed other aspects of the Penned Dragon – and he hoped that lasted.

There were other visitors, too. The doctor came to discuss his tests; everything looked normal now, and providing he had normal results tomorrow, he could be released on blood thinners and taking-it-easy.

Someone reached in the open door to knock with a bent forefinger, quick and bright. A girl – college student, maybe – with shoulder-length wavy chocolate hair, dark lipstick and a nose-ring, several necklaces over layers of tank-shirt-vest. A fluffy black skirt over striped Pippi-Longstocking tights and a pair of masculine knee-high boots.

"Hi!" she said. "I write an online column for the Sun-Star, I was wondering if I could-"

"No," Hunith said decisively, "thank you."

"Out," Gwen ordered, firm but inoffensive in her nurse's scrubs.

"Wait a minute," Merlin said, straightening in his cross-legged slouch on the hospital bed. The Sun-Star was taking the offensive in the Penned Dragon media debate, against the Gazette networks that defended the authenticity of the business and the honesty of its owner. "You got a card? A number where I can call you? Just – now's not a good time," he finished lamely, aware of his family's raised eyebrows in his peripheral vision.

Her smile was wide and crooked and sweet. "Sure," she said. And uncapped the dry-erase marker to write on his patient board on the wall – Sun-Star, the phone number, and the initials F.M. She waved her fingertips, and the fluffy edges of the skirt flared as she spun to leave.

Moment of silence.

"What?" Merlin asked, and let his mouth quirk. "She was cute – I might call her."

"Merlin," his mother chastised. Gwen released an emphatic sigh and flicked his shoulder. Tom let him catch the glitter of a smile in the dark depths of his eyes before he was straight-faced again.

The admin clerk had the sense – or the timing – to wait til his family had gone. To supper, they said, and would stop back before going home; he'd insisted that he didn't need anyone to stay.

 _After a close call like he'd had_ , the woman explained, settling her office-casual self into the visitor's chair, _it wasn't uncommon for a person to need to…talk. To a professional. So would he please answer a few questions? As part of his release paperwork._

Merlin shrugged, expecting – and getting – the checklist for clinical depression. Loss of interest in normal activities? a tendency to isolate from family and friends? trouble concentrating? feelings of excessive guilt? He couldn't help thinking what Will's answers might have been, and considering that he might have paid closer attention, might have ignored Will's standoffishness…

He couldn't help wondering what Arthur's answers might be.

 _Honestly_ , he told the clerk, _I feel more like I have a second chance at life. Rejuvenated, if you know what I mean. Ready to tilt at windmills._

 _Well,_ she revealed placidly, capping her pen and clipping it to her board, _that was the secondary reaction possible for heart attack patients. And of course she was glad he was feeling so well, but please remember to take it easy, and seek help if he found himself answering more of these questions_ yes _, and so on…_

His night was broken by periodic blood pressure and temperature checks. He used the waking time to think of Arthur, and how his time was spent outside of business hours. And how Merlin was meant to go about… whatever he was going to do.

In the morning, when they walked him and his rolling IV pole back to his room after his second MRI, he startled to find a young blonde woman with a white blouse over black dress trousers waiting for him.

"Mr. Emrys," she said, smooth and self-assured, dark eyes going right through the hospital pajamas with clinical detachment.

"Yeah," he said, shaking her hand warily. "That's still me."

"I'm here on behalf of the Penned Dragon," she said. "And without admitting any culpability on the part of my employer, let me begin by saying I'm very sorry about what happened to you yesterday, and that I'm very glad you seem to have recovered so well."

"Thank you," Merlin said dryly, motioning her to her seat, and hitching himself back up onto the bed.

"This sort of thing is so rare," she said confidingly. "But it is our policy to remind you of the waivers you signed, to save yourself and us the embarrassment and expense of filing a lawsuit only to have it dismissed."

"I wasn't going to," he said honestly. Understanding her completely – and deciding that he could do a little handling in return. "There was nothing that your people did wrong, no misuse or misapplication of equipment or materials that I'm aware of. Just… accidents happen sometimes."

"I'm so pleased to hear you say that," she said, smiling and resettling her weight in the chair. "If you're agreeable, however, I'd like to ask you a few questions about your experience – in the hopes of achieving some closure about the incident, on both sides."

"Of course," he said, agreeably. Well-meaning blue-collar worker, present to see his dad one last time, and to check on a friend who recently passed. Possibly his emotions had gotten a little out of control – still quite upset, you understand – but, um, he didn't see why his medical records were their business?

Just routine questions, she assured him.

Ah. He nodded, and shaded the truth a bit more than what he'd told the doctors. Yes, he smoked. (Well, he used to have an occasional puff with Will before they'd both moved out of that apartment building.) Yes, his job was high-stress (sometimes) and he was a type-A personality (well, sometimes). Stimulant drugs? Well… er… stutter and wink and avoid eye contact and blush – and _no absolutely not, especially when employed by the police department_ , read as _gosh yes, obviously_.

The blonde woman left, and Merlin was fairly satisfied that she'd report, for all his young age and steady cholesterol, a heart attack wasn't completely out of the blue.

Lancelot came, while Merlin was finishing getting dressed. Gwen was on duty again, and Hunith waiting in the hall to drive Merlin to pick up his truck from the Penned Dragon lot.

"Is he supposed to be driving so soon?" Lancelot asked at the door, as Merlin sat down to lace his boots.

"It was a heart attack, not a seizure," Merlin told him. "I'm good to drive – and I don't even need to report it."

Lancelot leaned on the open door. "Hey. Sorry I missed seeing you in your gown."

"Still not as pretty as you," Merlin responded, grinning.

His friend's smile was subtle, and fleeting – habitually serious, and his job didn't often admit for excess levity. He was in uniform, now. "They want to know, do you still want the Lee Parks case?"

"Yes," Merlin said without hesitating. Hunith appeared beside Lancelot, a worried look on her face, and he added reassuringly, "It's my only one right now, and I won't take another for a week or two." Because Arthur Flite's case didn't really count as a case, if it was on his own days and dimes.

"Captain wanted me to tell you," Lancelot commented, "no more Penned Dragon for you unless it's the monthly checks at the Yes-or-No desk."

Merlin huffed. And maybe it was cynical for him to wonder if that was entirely a joke, or whether he was now on someone's radar. Best to slip quietly off that, then.

"I," he stated, standing and checking his pockets for their contents one more time before leaving the room, "have had it with that place. And, I'm ready to get out of this one."

It was still two days til Lee Parks, the bank robber, was released. He doubted he was the only investigator set to recover the stolen cash – there was a half-percent finder's fee, and something like that would set someone like him up for life. He intended to beg, bribe, or coerce Gwaine into letting him use his system to tail Parks remotely, because it might be weeks or months til the thief felt cool enough to retrieve the money from its stash-place.

And he had promised his family that he would rest.

So Merlin sat at his desk in his basement apartment, tilted back into the corner with the phone sent right to silent voicemail, and thought.

About Arthur, and about Uther, and the Penned Dragon. About Dr. Morgause, and the four techs in that hidden room. About the tutor, and the nanny.

Undercover work would take too long to set up, even if all he was after was information. Having seen Arthur, he couldn't just sit back and tell himself, _Well, he's handled it for years, he can take a few more months…_

What could he do with what he had now? Police could do nothing, no judge would issue a search warrant based on Merlin's hearsay, if he even wanted to reveal what really happened, exposing himself to popular ridicule and discredit. Lawyers wouldn't touch it with a ten-foot pole, especially after his signature on their waivers.

He was back to the media, then.

Opening his eyes and straightening in his desk chair, he keyed his computer to search the Sun-Star's archives for articles relevant to the Penned Dragon, and for the byline of F.M.

Freya McKenzie. The thumbnail portrait was a shade more sedate than the original, but her prose was honest, thought-provoking, and quirky enough for enjoyable reading. In addition to the issues surrounding the Penned Dragon debate – medical, ethical, metaphysical – she'd handled topics of domestic abuse. Spousal, and child, in addition to an article where she'd written in defense of the small percentage of abusers who had been falsely accused. She'd begun her career, it looked like, two years ago with a tart little piece on the ethics of DNR's sighed not by the patient nor by someone appointed by the patient, but by medical proxies assigned by the courts.

She had insights that hadn't occurred to him. Used arguments that were brilliant in retrospect, but that he wouldn't have thought of to begin with. She didn't attack, demean, or belittle her sources – but seemed more often to protect their privacy than to expose.

He could trust her.

Merlin picked up the phone.

It rang eight times before she answered in a breathless rush. "Hey, this is Freya McKenzie for the Sun-Star."

"Hi," he said, wishing he could sound confident and professional. "Merlin Emrys, you stopped by my hospital room yesterday?"

"Oh, right – heart attack at the Penned Dragon. Even though you're twenty-three and don't smoke or drink habitually, or have any other chronic health conditions…" Very leading.

But he said, "You background-checked me?"

"Of course – don't you always, Mr. Private Investigator?"

"I read your articles," he said, "not your medical chart."

"So sue me," she said cheerfully. "Oh – no, not really, we've got lawyers on retainer, you probably won't get very far."

"That's what the Penned Dragon told me," he said. "Very politely, of course."

She made a thoughtful noise. "And would there be… any special reason you'd consider a lawsuit, otherwise?"

"You're asking me, is there a story," Merlin guessed.

"Well, is there?"

Merlin took a deep breath. "Yes."

After a brief pause, she said, "You want to do this over the phone, or do you want to meet me somewhere in person?"

"If we meet, can I call it a date?" he tried.

She laughed again, rather flattered than offended, but not taking him any more seriously than he'd intended. "I'll let you know when we finish, if it was a date or not."

"Fair enough. My schedule is open, so – when and where?"

"I can do this afternoon, say three o'clock. The Fish-Dix Café, do you know it?"

"I can find it," Merlin said. "See you there."

"Looking forward to it." She disconnected.

Merlin left his basement apartment-office, locking the door behind him, and drove himself and several of his files to the café, eating lunch and clearing away the dishes before their meeting. It was only about three-quarters full at the busiest time, and the waitress didn't blink when he told her how long he planned to use the table.

"Sure thing, hon."

So he read through the file given him by Lancelot on Lee Parks the bank robber, making notes as ideas occurred to him – a couple places he could check, a couple people to investigate as possible contacts in the search for the missing millions.

He made a couple of phone calls. A good deal of his job was done on the phone, with a map and a good dose of common sense with an occasional flair for theatrics. Finding a person who was deliberately missing for whatever reason, proving an alibi one way or the other. Logging his hours for a client's paycheck.

And finally, looking through the last file he'd put together. Information more than twenty years old, as well as his own witness statement, which made him downright jittery to have in print.

Or maybe that was just the third cup of coffee. No more, then, til Freya-

"Hi, you're early," she said.

Merlin jumped, instinctively sliding out of the booth to greet her standing beside the table he'd been using. She was wearing tight black jeans with her menswear boots, and a baggy-clingy shirt of bright fuscia that just covered the tops of her shoulders and wrinkled fascinatingly over her chest, under the half-dozen necklaces. She had a wide silver thumb ring, and eyeshadow that hinted at a match to her shirt, and when she tucked her hair behind her ear, he saw that underneath the shoulder-length waves, the hair on the sides of her head had been cut to a bout half an inch of soft-looking bristle.

He was seized with the desire to test that bristle with his fingertips and see if it was really as soft as it looked.

"Hi," he said breathlessly. "Sit down?"

"Have to say," she told him frankly, sliding in to the bench opposite, tucking a large canvas messenger bag next to her hip, "I've never interviewed a private investigator before. Aren't you young for it?"

"Worked for a guy who was a cop first," Merlin said, seating himself again. "He retired last year."

"Taught you everything he knew, and you were good at it, and kept doing it?" she asked, taking a pen and a half-size notebook from her bag, and flipping to a page that had several lines written on it already.

"Pays the bills," he said. And wondered if she could tell that he was nervous.

"Leaves a little extra to visit the Penned Dragon," she observed, twisting to signal the waitress by lifting the extra empty coffee mug from the table, the one Merlin hadn't used. "That's not cheap. This was your first visit there?"

"Um," he said. "Technically I guess my fourth. Though the first time was just to the Yes-or-No desk."

"Uh huh. And what happened differently this time, as far as how you felt physically, or how the visit went – or were the effects cumulative, in your opinion?"

Merlin drummed his fingers on his file. "I couldn't find reported statistics," he said. "For how often something like this happens. Or how often someone… kills themselves, or tries to, after a session there."

She arched an eyebrow at him. "Those are hard to find," she agreed. "I don't imagine Uther Flite likes people looking."

"The Sun-Star knows?" he suggested.

"The Sun-Star suspects," she corrected. "Whether or not it's worthwhile printing those numbers… when it's so much better for business to hush it up."

The waitress leaned over them with the coffee pot, splashing Freya's mug full; Merlin slid his fingers over the top of his in a wordless declining of more, and the woman moved away again. He waited til Freya had dumped four packets of sugar substitute into the black liquid and was stirring it, before he spoke again, deliberately.

"Statistics are the very least of what they have to keep hushed up. I know how that place works. Makes Asian sweatshops look religiously ethical."

Her eyes widened, just slightly; she put down her spoon to pick up her pen, but didn't write anything. "You mean, beyond the medical and metaphysical technical terms Dr. Morgause vomits every time she opens her mouth?"

"Yeah."

"They're breaking laws?" Freya asked, leaning forward over the table.

"That…" He hesitated. "Yes, but proving it…"

"Tell me what you know, and how you know it," she ordered. "I'll worry about proof."

And this was where it could get hairy. If he left out the foundation of his story, it would sound like the ravings of an oxygen-deprived brain. An NDE-driven dream.

He opened his file and spread out the copies he'd printed, evidence of the early years of Arthur's life. "These are for you to keep, by the way," he said.

"I didn't know Uther Flite had a son," she said, though it must have seemed like side-tracking to her, she was patient and willing to be interested. She glanced over the marriage certificate, the three death certificates. Merlin's eyes followed her fingers – slender, the nails painted slate-gray – quick and confident and expressive.

"I've met him," he said. "He's being held against his will in the Penned Dragon facility – I'm not certain where, but it's close to the center of the structure."

She met his eyes, her brows drawing together in concentration but not comprehension.

"He is what makes the whole concept work," Merlin added. "Calling up departed spirits for hour or half-hour visits."

"I thought Dr. Morgause…" she began, but Merlin shook his head.

"She makes the science sound fancy. And I think the degree of ambiguity is intentional – so people can walk away and tell themselves, that wasn't real."

"But it is," Freya said, watching him closely.

He nodded, searching as far to her soul as she'd let him, in return. It was quite a long ways, and he wondered briefly whether he could find his way back, unscathed. If he wanted to.

"There are certain people, who have certain innate talents for things that most of us would disbelieve as impossible, if we didn't witness it firsthand," he told her. "For want of a better term, Arthur is a medium, able to communicate with spirits who have passed beyond the veil of death. His father discovered this talent after his mother's death-"

He put his finger on the police report of the car accident, and her eyes followed the movement briefly before linking with his again.

"And he's been exploiting his son's ability ever since. Arthur never went to second grade. He's been held in the Penned Dragon itself since its debut, strapped in a chair and wired to the crystals and screens. All day. Every day."

"Against his will," Freya repeated.

"Yeah." Merlin was as sure of that as he was of Arthur's identity – and his own name.

She sat back, blowing out her breath in a sigh. Tapped her fingers on the pages, and squinted out the side window. "And you know this how? I mean, did you excuse yourself to the bathroom and take a wrong turn? Have a conversation with the guy?"

"Something like that," Merlin said. "I've written up the whole thing, my witness statement."

"Why didn't you call the cops?" she said.

"Because I was having a heart attack at the time," he said lightly.

She wasn't amused. She wasn't convinced, and he found himself impressed. "Why would meeting the man behind the curtain, so to speak, give you an actual heart attack? And why wouldn't Uther Flite be threatening or bribing you to keep shut about this, if it's true he's abusing his son?"

Merlin took a deep breath. "Because they don't know that I know."

"So go to your cop friends. Get a search warrant and go back, down the hall, through the door, why not?"

He was going to have to tell her. Give her a glimpse into himself as deep as he'd taken of her – and then let her go.

"Because when I saw what I saw, my body was in one of the visiting-room chairs. Arthur's spirit came through along with my father's, and when time was up and they left, I was able to detach my spirit and follow them. Only for a moment, but long enough to see Arthur's situation – there were four other people in the room, technicians or medical personnel, working whatever equipment facilitates the phenomenon."

Doubt filtered into her expression.

"I know how it sounds," he said calmly. "I didn't really expect you just to believe me – you're a journalist. You're meant to be as skeptical as a P.I. So, here – this is me putting my life in your hands."

Strong, delicate hands, and he wouldn't mind her touching… Another thought for another day, maybe.

He set her coffee cup – saucer and spoon – on the papers spread over the tabletop, and with a quick glance to make sure no one else was paying attention, he levitated them. Slowly, surely, lifting and floating – even the last two swallows of cold coffee out of the cup cleanly in a little cloud.

"You're-" she said faintly. "That's-"

"People used to say magic," he said in a low voice, and started her napkin folding itself into one of his father's origami patterns – a rosebud.

"This isn't a trick," she said unsteadily. "I don't see how this possibly… can be a trick."

"It isn't," he said. "But it's not exactly safe for people to know about people like me – and Arthur. Before you know it you're strapped to a chair and forced to perform to make other people rich."

The coffee trickled back into her cup, the spoon settled into the saucer, and it drifted back to the side of the table. She reached out to touch the stiff-soft folds of the napkin rose.

"But," he added, "not something I can take to the cops."

"No, I see that." She put her palm on her forehead, as if her thinking was re-arranging and needed some solidly reinforced margins. Then she used her fingers to comb her hair back over the top of her head, revealing the close-shorn sides again. "All right, say I believe you," she said suddenly.

Her dark eyes held his fearlessly and unwaveringly, and he never wanted to be let go. He wasn't less or more, in her eyes, and there was no calculation of advantage to be taken whatsoever. That feeling was almost as unnerving as the decision to trust and reveal himself to her – like a decision to allow admiration to teeter over into falling in love.

"How do you know Arthur wants to leave, and isn't allowed to? How do you know he's mentally capable of adult independence, after years of abuse going back into early childhood?"

"I know he wants his freedom," Merlin said. "If you'd seen the look on his face, you'd know too. What happens after that – shouldn't that be his choice? As much of a choice as he's capable of making? He's at least lucid enough to know exactly what he's doing – and to want to stop."

Whether he negotiated his return under better conditions, or started his own medium business, or checked himself into a full-time care facility to finger-paint and play with stuffed animals. He was capable of choosing his own life, Merlin believed that, and would see it happen. Arthur had done nothing to deserve being penned. And Merlin felt enough of Lancelot's sort of creed – defending citizens' rights and civil liberties – to commit himself to fight for Arthur. Even if it wasn't within the confines that Lancelot and his fellows swore to.

"Yeah," Freya said. "Yeah. Hells."

She slid down the seat til her head rested on the back of the booth, and her knees touched his. He didn't feel self-conscious about it, though, and she didn't move away. She closed her eyes, her expression tight, and after a moment he compiled the file into its folder again for her.

Minutes passed. He watched her think and it was a little like watching Gwen work – quietly impressive and a little awing. It made him feel like he knew her better than a dozen lightly-flirtatious dates.

Or maybe that was only because he'd told her who he really was.

"I'm guessing," she said absently, without opening her eyes, "that since you're a P.I., you've used your – talents – in service to the law, rather than to break it."

"So far," he said, and then her fuscia-colored eyelids flew up in surprise. "I mean. Have you ever come up against an issue where you know what the right thing to do is, but everyone is telling you, you can't?"

Her lips twisted in wry recognition of his point. "Hm. I guess if I could use magic to get around that, I would… Merlin, I can't write this. I can _write_ this, but I can't publish it. They'd never. Not without corroboration."

He filled his lungs and sighed his breath out. "I was afraid of that," he admitted.

She studied the file without touching it, and shook her head as if slightly overwhelmed by the information and implications. "Can I keep it, though?" she asked. "You're not going to let it go, I can see that – if you come up with some verifiable evidence…"

"Please keep it," he said, making the papers match a fraction more neatly, and pushing the file another inch toward her. "This is my insurance policy. In the event of my death or disappearance-"

"Merlin," she said again, disturbed. Conversely, he decided he liked the sound of her voice saying his name. And the way her lips looked, forming it.

"I'll keep in touch," he said. "Or someone will. But I'm serious, if something happens to me because of this-"

"I'll shout it from the internet's metaphorical rooftops," she said. "Consequences be damned. But do be careful – I'd rather have a story to start a career than end one."

"Me, too," Merlin said.

She smiled, picking up the folder and reclaiming her bag, sliding out from the bench seat.

"Don't pay them for the coffee, I've got it," he told her, standing beside their booth because that was the way he'd been raised.

"Thanks. Next time it's my treat," she said.

"Does that mean I can call this a date?" he asked, teasing.

She looked at the front of his shirt – she wasn't tall, but petite – and up his throat, up his face to his eyes. And blinked, at whatever she saw there – but it made her smile, too. "Sure," she said. "Call it a date."

"I'll call you," he said as she moved away.

She didn't respond, but halted – then turned and moved back to him, leaning over the table to pick up the napkin-rose. "I will be waiting for that," she told him. "I've… never met anyone like you before."

He was tongue-tied, dry-mouthed, and couldn't think of anything smooth or cool to say. He wasn't entirely sure she was referring to his magic, only… But then she smiled and reached to touch his arm in a farewell slightly more personal, more real than flirty banter.

It was like a static shock. There and gone before blinking, but unmistakable and undeniable – for the fraction of a second, she was in his arms, pressed warmly to him, so close that clothing was a tease, and their mouths were together, moving as intimately as their bodies did, comfortably and confidently like they'd done it before and both enjoyed it so thoroughly they'd go on doing it forever-

She jerked back, dark eyes wide and mouth dropped open.

"Sorry," he said huskily. Totally unintentional, totally unprecedented – was that a glimpse of the future, or only his desires? And she'd shared it.

"No, my fault," she said. "These boots… dry weather… Bye, Merlin."

He watched her walk away, and thought he'd have to drink cold coffee to be able to swallow. Maybe take a cold shower in order to function at peak mental capacity again.

She glanced back as she pushed through the door – and she was smiling.

Cold shower, definitely.

 **A/N: I did mean to get Arthur and Merlin back together in this chapter – but it didn't happen. Hopefully the Freylin made up for that a bit – next chapter Merlin &Arthur, I think I can pretty safely promise. And Gwaine again.**


	5. Rehearsal and Performance

**Chapter 5: Rehearsal and Performance**

There was no rich client waiting to provide safety in a dozen details, temporarily or permanently, willing to pay lawyers and specialists. Merlin was essentially on his own. So before he went to Gwaine's again, he laid some groundwork.

He called Lancelot and reiterated the intention of following the Lee Parks case – though they didn't expect the money to turn up immediately, either – but that he was planning on taking a few weeks off otherwise, maybe longer. After the heart attack, you know. Get out of the city for a while. Lancelot was very understanding; Merlin wondered if the truth would ever be inconvenient enough to strain their friendship.

Then he called Gaius, the retired cop who'd taught him the business of private investigation. He lived a couple hours outside the city, on the outskirts of a farm town. A handful of fruit trees and a hay field, a barn with yearly poultry and pair of pigs and a calf to raise, an extensive vegetable garden and a tractor and a pair of antique pickups he tinkered on for fun.

" _Merlin! How's business_?"

"It's… stressful," he said. The old man was sharp enough to figure out what was going on eventually, but on the principle that it was easier to ask forgiveness than permission, he was going to keep Gaius in the dark as long as possible. "You remember when you said, come see me sometime? Stay as long as you like?"

" _Business is that bad, huh_?" the old man said dryly.

"Can I bring a friend? Business has been bad for him lately, too, I think a vacation in the countryside might be just what he needs."

" _Come and welcome_."

"Thanks, Gaius."

Merlin mentioned his plans to his family at dinner. Tom and Hunith agreed it was a good idea; Gwen gave him a sharpish look, as if she connected the getaway to his health scare, at least, but she said nothing.

When Merlin went to Gwaine's again – through the back because Nadine and Florence were out – his friend hailed him by name before he was even in sight.

"You're the only one I've ever told, come in the back," Gwaine explained, swiveling his desk chair away from his system. "So – you're taking me up on the video game offer? Or did you come to talk, after all?"

"Neither," Merlin said, smiling in spite of himself. "I've come to pay you for a favor."

"If you pay me, it's not a favor," Gwaine pointed out. "What do you need?"

"Lee Parks the bank robber," Merlin said. "Served his time and was released."

"And three-point-seven-five million was never recovered," Gwaine said, with a look of enlightenment. "What's the finder's fee on that?"

"Half a percent," Merlin said. "And half of that is yours if I can use your setup." That was a sum that pushed five digits; not an insignificant offer.

"I'd rather you owe me a favor," Gwaine said. "I don't need the money, after all, my dad left us pretty well off. And… something tells me you need more than just a tracker program written."

"I need…" Merlin hesitated, then smiled. "An ID – driver's license would be good." Gwaine blinked and Merlin, knowing exactly how ridiculous he just sounded, explained. "A white male, say twenty-five, blonde hair and blue eyes, make the name… James A. Whatever. How soon?"

"Two days," Gwaine said. His tone said, _Huh_? And then his gaze twitched past Merlin, far into the distance, and he straightened in his rolling desk chair, reaching to thread the fingers of both hands into his hair. "James A. Arthur James – are you still on about Uther Flite's son?"

"Arthur _is_ the Penned Dragon," Merlin said, and went on to tell the whole story of his last trip to the facility. Well, almost. Enough.

" _Geez_ ," Gwaine said, and it took him several seconds to finish the word. He leaned back in the desk chair – it creaked alarmingly – as far as it would go, and stared at the ceiling, rubbing absent-mindedly at the scruff of beard on his chin. "So you're what – gonna bust him out?"

"That's the beginning, middle, and end of the plan," Merlin said. "Get him out of there, keep him away from them."

"Hence the ID," Gwaine said, and closed his eyes for a moment.

"I said I'd pay you," Merlin repeated into the silence. Knowing that Gwaine's hesitation was for the trouble Merlin might get into.

"I'll do it for free if you help me plan." Gwaine opened his eyes to study Merlin from his nearly-horizontal position.

Merlin's turn to hesitate – but only momentarily. Gwaine's hobbies kept him in trouble, and he already knew what he was offering to get involved in. To decline was to offend.

"Let me set up a tracker program for Lee Parks," Merlin suggested. "Then I want to look at blueprints for the Penned Dragon. They've got security cameras-"

"That'll be closed circuit," Gwaine said. "No hacking unless you're on their premises, physically tapping into their network."

"With your equipment," Merlin told him, "I can do it from here."

Sprawled in the chair, Gwaine looked at him another long moment. "Prove it."

So he did.

It took twenty-three minutes for him to link the facial recognition program to the permanent hack of the city's own surveillance – traffic cams and so on – and overlay a mobile copy of Gwaine's any-camera-in-the-area hijacker function. There would be blind spots, but it would be next to impossible for Lee Parks to slip this tail. And unless he went straight for the cash and hightailed it for the airport – which Merlin was ninety-five percent sure he wouldn't – in a week or so he could evaluate the man's movements and maybe start to close in.

"That," Gwaine pronounced, "is a work of art. Now show me the inside of the Penned Dragon – if you can."

Merlin could, though it took a little longer. His concentration slipped more than once at the recollection that Gwaine was behind him, watching over his shoulder – but before long, they had blue-tinted black-and-white eyes on the corridors of the building with little boxy identifiers in the lower right corners. Split-screen, flicking languidly through the multiple stationary camera-views.

"That's impossible, Merlin," Gwaine said, and there was no humor in his voice.

"Just improbable," Merlin corrected, not turning around. He had a feeling he wouldn't like Gwaine's expression; he wasn't ready to deal with that quite yet. "Now if I'm right about this layout…"

Seven more keystrokes, and the screen on his far left showed delicately-lined building specs.

Gwaine leaned close to that screen and pointed. "You said the control room was central, right? Sharing a wall with each of the meeting-rooms like slices of pie."

"Yeah," Merlin said, watching the split-screen of the security cams tick over in a regular rotation. Each camera would have running recordings, but someone would have to manually select a single camera to watch – or reverse the footage for – to pull it out of the three-second cycle.

"There's more than one room in the center," Gwaine told him. "It looks like a wide hallway, sectioned off, leading to employee rooms in the rear. Bathrooms, kitchen, looks like."

"I wonder if they leave him in the same room twenty-four-seven," Merlin murmured. "There was just that chair he was strapped in… no bed, or toilet, or…" His fingers itched to take control of the cameras, select and zoom and explore.

"Don't," Gwaine warned, as if reading his mind, reaching like he wanted to snatch Merlin's fingers back. "They won't notice you watching, but if you start to _play_ – they'll know."

" 'Kay. Sorry. They don't have cameras in that central room, though." Merlin checked his watch – still half an hour til closing time at the Penned Dragon, and then an hour for the Yes-or-No desk to conduct business. "They wouldn't need that, necessarily, with the techs there to supervise – but what have they got for nighttime security?"

"Wait and see," Gwaine said. "I want to hear how you think you're going to get in there and back out with this kid without being noticed."

"He's not a kid," Merlin reminded him. "Older than me."

"Younger than me," Gwaine countered. "Look. You've got cameras watching that outside area in the back – employee parking and entrance-exit. Key-card for that – see?"

Merlin murmured acknowledgement, leaning forward to watch a pair of men in dark uniform enter the building, chatting comfortably. Second-shift, he guessed, which mean third-shift would probably come on about one in the morning.

"And even if you get a key-card – stolen original or manufactured copy – there's still the after-hours alarm to consider," Gwaine went on. "Cameras down this hall – two guys means one's patrolling. And the actual door to the holding area – here – is probably opened by code, if not by fingerprints or retinal scan."

"Depending on whether they've got surveillance in the room where they keep him overnight," Merlin said absently, watching the movements of the newly-arrived guards. "I was going to bypass all of that, and break as few laws as possible. Trespassing, if that."

"If they've got eyes on him at night, it means the guards have to know what's going on there, too," Gwaine pointed out. "Bypass how? You're talking about going to the roof, and use the air shafts and vents?"

"No… a little more direct than that." Merlin swiveled the desk chair to face his friend, and took a deep breath. "You accepted the idea of Arthur's psychic abilities pretty easily."

"I trust you." Gwaine shrugged, but his eyes were keen.

"Okay," Merlin said, trying to keep his pulse steady. "Okay." Well, it had gone pretty well when he'd told Freya, hadn't it? And he knew Gwaine a lot better. "I can… _do_ things, too."

Gwaine's expression didn't change. "Things like this," he said, twiddling his fingers in a mime of typing on a keyboard – to signify the hacker's tricks an expert called impossible, Merlin understood. "But things like _this_?" Incredulity colored his question as he gestured to the screen depicting security cams and building blueprints. "It's like, breaking into mob headquarters, you know – they won't just arrest you, or leave an outstanding warrant open for you. They'll _dismember_ you."

"First they have to know it was me," Merlin said. "Then they have to catch me. I know it's dangerous, Gwaine – but I think I may have an idea, how to simplify it and make it safer at the same time."

"Good. Let's hear it."

Merlin said, "Teleportation."

"Telepor-what?"

"Okay, I've never actually done it before, but I can usually do things I want to do, if I want to badly enough, and sometimes with a little practice."

Gwaine didn't move, and his expression of bemused disbelief didn't lessen. "Whatever you want?"

"Well, I mean. Stuff doesn't just pop into my head, and then it happens. There has to be concentration – intention and purpose."

"Okay," Gwaine said slowly – and then more determinedly, "Okay. But if it's something you haven't done before, then…"

"I'll probably need to practice," Merlin concluded, the knot in his stomach easing to find Gwaine so accepting. "You don't mind me doing it here? Someone's bound to be home at my place, and curious…" Not to mention they'd all probably lecture him about taking it easy after his ER trip. "And I'm not planning on saying one word to them about any of this."

"Keep them out of it," Gwaine agreed. "And yeah, because I was going to ask to watch, anyway."

He grinned, and Merlin huffed a chuckle. Maybe his childhood best friend was gone, lost to him now, but that didn't mean he was alone. And that was what he was going to save Arthur from, and give to him, if he could. At least a second chance at life, and making these kinds of loyal friends.

They started small, trying teleportation on a deck of playing cards. And initially the frustration grew, til they realized the concept wouldn't work if he was simply trying to move objects around in the same room with himself.

Well, levitation probably made more sense in that case, anyway.

When he focused on sending the eight of diamonds upstairs to the kitchen, it vanished immediately. And with Gwaine upstairs and hollering down to report, they figured that the transfer was pretty nearly instantaneous. Merlin went through the entire suit of spades in order, out of the shuffled deck, faster than a Vegas dealer, and the euphoric sense of successful accomplishment carried him to the suggestion of the first human trial.

"Are you sure?" Gwaine said, sitting at the top of the stairs and leaning forward to see Merlin past the basement ceiling. "Why not try small animals, first?"

Merlin grimaced. "I'd hate to do that with someone's pet. Or to lure a wild thing… It doesn't seem fair, somehow, when they can't understand what's going on, don't you think?"

"So you're going to go straight to yourself?" Gwaine asked, sounding amused for some reason. "Merlin, you are something else. How about a clock first, something that has moving parts? Or my ma's fern? Let's do that."

Merlin looked back at the screens. The one on the right was still occupied with Lee Parks' tracker program – evidently he was at the halfway house where released inmates could stay if they didn't have anywhere else immediately ready – but the rest of the system was still monitoring the Penned Dragon.

And there was a camera in the second of the central interior rooms. Probably only included in the rotation when it was in use. It showed a tiny, sterile room very like a prison cell – a small shelf like a desk built into the wall, with a square-block stool for a chair. Cot also built into the wall. Toilet, in full view of the camera.

Motionless figure on the cot, curled up on his side, white scrubs, white skin, white bedding.

Hell's sake. Merlin felt a sort of hard cold ignite inside him. Dry ice, sizzling and smoking and burning – now that he was not in the middle of a heart attack, numb with shock and slipping weakly into unconsciousness.

"All right," he said to Gwaine.

They tried the clock, and realized that it lost a second every time – but otherwise kept working oblivious to its interdimensional trips. They transferred the fern to the living room eight times, and Merlin's legs – because he had to be next to the object; he couldn't recall it back to him after sending it away – got tired retrieving it, up and down the stairs, before his magic did.

Actually, it felt like it was expanding to meet the challenge of the demands he was placing on it, not using it up or wearing it out. Hm – interesting.

The fern looked just as healthy after the eighth trip as it did after the first, not even needs-water droopy, though of course when a plant died it wasn't immediately apparent.

"So," Merlin said to Gwaine, who was counting fronds on the fern on the kitchen table. "Am I allowed to begin human testing?"

"Do you want to write a will first?" Gwaine said, and he was only partly joking. "What am I supposed to tell people if something happens?"

Merlin wasn't really worried. "My magic wouldn't do that," he told his friend. "If it wasn't going to work, it wouldn't work. It won't do a half-ass job, it'll be all the way or nothing at all."

"My magic," Gwaine mimicked, maybe because he was still nervous for Merlin's sake. "All right, then – shoot."

Merlin took a deep breath, closing his eyes and focusing on his senses – floor under the soles of his boots, sunset on the left side of his face through the window, faint smell of yeast-and-grease – and then shifting all those impressions to what he knew of Gwaine's basement.

Concrete rather than linoleum. The cool dark of electric lights and screen-glow. Faint smell of damp and old pizza and dirty socks.

He needed to be there. He _needed_ to be there, _immediately_. Inside, he leaned forward like a racer on the blocks, like a diver at the edge – and sprang forward without moving.

Gwaine was cursing, far away. Merlin was frozen in place, hyper-sensitive to his physical state – tingly, but no pain.

"Shit-shit-shit," Gwaine babbled, thumping down every other stair. "Merlin! Merlin, did you-"

He opened his eyes and glanced down his front – collared t-shirt, belted jeans, boots – fine. Perfect. He grinned at Gwaine, spreading his arms to prove his condition.

"Damn you, _I'm_ going to have a heart attack," Gwaine said, spreading his fingers over his chest in a dramatic gesture.

"Not yet, please," Merlin said, feeling just a little bit high. Like nothing was impossible. "I've got to make sure it works when I take another person with me."

Gwaine stepped back and sank down to sitting on his couch-bed. He repeated faintly, "Damn you."

"Come on," Merlin said coaxingly. "It'll be fun."

Gwaine swallowed and shook his head – in disagreement, not refusal. Merlin looked at him a moment, then sidestepped so Gwaine could clearly see the screens stealing video footage from the Penned Dragon.

The prisoner in white, locked in his tiny room. No books or writing-drawing materials, no television or internet or phone or exercise yard.

"You're really doing this," Gwaine said in a low voice.

"Help me help him," Merlin said.

A moment more, and Gwaine nodded, pushing himself up from the couch to approach Merlin, hand held out.

Merlin grasped his hand, pulling it up to his heart and passing his other arm around Gwaine's shoulders. Gwaine tensed, ducking his head – closing his eyes, probably – and hissed a string of profanity that didn't help with Merlin's concentration.

Even so, it wasn't exactly difficult. He _knew_ Gwaine, understood and felt and sensed him – scent and sound and the shape of his figure and the color of his eyes and the movement of his facial expressions. Merlin put both of them into the setting of the kitchen – sunset, bread-dough, linoleum-squeak – and once again _lunged_ forward without moving.

Perfect.

The front door, eleven paces away to the left, opened to Nadine and Florence, each with a pair of plastic grocery bags.

"And so I told him I would _not_ , but he didn't believe me-"

"Well, who could blame 'im, Flo, you're not exactly- Gwaine, Merlin, _what_ are you doing in the middle of my kitchen?"

Gwaine stumbled back from his grasp, wide-eyed, and allowed himself to flop into one of the kitchen chairs.

"Rehearsing a jail-break," Merlin told mother and daughter, with his approximation of Gwaine's rakish grin.

Flo rolled her eyes and detoured to begin stomping up the stairs to the bedrooms on the second story. Nadine came toward them in the kitchen, saying in clear sarcastic disbelief, "Oh, is that all…"

"The hard liquor is in the cabinet behind you," Gwaine said to Merlin. "Pick something and hand it over. And," he added as Merlin started to turn, "I'll have that driver's license for you day after tomorrow."

"You are the truest of friends," Merlin told him, grabbing a bottle.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Merlin didn't go home that night.

As part of his groundwork, he went to a particular motel he knew of, which lay confusingly between two cell phone towers, in case anyone thought to track calls by GPS. There was no security surveillance – the cameras at the corners of the building all for show – on the sort of place that rented rooms by the hour, up to the month. Ask me no questions, I'll tell you no lies. Will had lived here for a week, two separate times, and a couple of the desk clerks could be persuaded to answer Merlin's questions honestly, though they all of habit resisted anyone with more authority than a P.I.

"I'm on a case," Merlin told them, paying a week in advance and laying out his cover story. "Two-bed room, I've got a witness I have to put up for a few days."

Noisy place and smelly, and it didn't do to dwell on the question of cleanliness, either. If it was next to godliness, it was far from this place.

In the morning, Merlin went to the halfway house where – Gwaine assured him – Lee Parks had spent the night.

There was a bus stop at the corner of the block, and Merlin parked his pickup where he had a clear view of it. And at quarter-after-eight, Parks came out the front door and down the steps of the house, down to the sidewalk, where he stopped and squinted around him with the suspicion of the career criminal.

He wasn't a tall man, his gray hair curly and absent from the top of his head. He saw Merlin – Merlin started the engine, but waited til Parks had turned to stalk to the bus stop, before pulling his truck around to face the direction the bus route ran on.

They waited four more minutes, before the city transit, with a wide teal-green strip around it, huffed to a stop, and Parks got on.

The bus ran at five miles below speed limit, and stopped every third block or so, but Merlin stayed behind it. Not obviously _right_ behind it, sometimes allowing himself to fall behind a vehicle or two around corners – but with plenty of warning, when Lee Parks descended the bus steps to the sidewalk again, to be able to pull the pickup around in a U-turn, and find parallel parking on the opposite side of the street.

He angled his side mirror and watched Parks squint all around him before marching down another block, and turning the corner.

Merlin made a decision, turning off his engine and pocketing his keys to follow.

They walked three more blocks, into a residential district, townhomes that were tall and narrow. Parks loitered, looking up – glanced back and didn't see Merlin past the corner – went up to try his luck with the doorbell.

Merlin watched a younger man come out, a well-built thirtyish blue-collar with curly hair plenty thick over the top of his head, over his forehead and down his neck. His face was broad enough and bearded to keep the effect from being girly, in a different way than Gwaine had, though. The young man wore a work uniform, and the sky-blue van at the curb advertised _Leon's Locks – The Locksmith You Need!_

Hm.

The young man – not a former associate, since Parks had been in prison for the last eighteen years – was not happy to see the convict. Their voices didn't rise loud enough for Merlin to hear words, but the young man poked the older in the shoulder in an eloquent get-out-of-here gesture. _I want nothing to do with you_ , his body language said, before he turned and slammed his way back inside the townhouse.

Parks looked the place over for a moment, before turning to scuff back down the sidewalk. Merlin turned his back and pretended to be waiting at another doorstep when the older man rounded the corner. But another glance from the corner of his eye assured him, Parks had taken notice.

Leaving the doorbell actually unrung, Merlin came down to the sidewalk, watching after the thief long enough to catch his second backward glance – and retreat apparently embarrassed to his pickup.

He started the engine again smiling in satisfaction. Parks would recognize him, he was sure. Well enough that if anyone asked, he'd identify Merlin as having followed him – he'd be smart enough to know what that meant, given his history and the missing millions. He'd spook away from the money a little while now – maybe long enough to discourage any other amateurs hoping for the finder's fee – and allow Merlin the time to take care of Arthur. Meanwhile, just in case, Gwaine would monitor the tracking program.

He stopped by his house to change and shower and pack a duffel full of clothes. Then back to Gwaine's to pick up Arthur's new ID and work out a getaway route that would shield him from the city's cameras that could be accessed when Uther discovered his son and his business gone in one night.

Because they wouldn't just report the incident and leave it to the police force to solve and make an arrest. Honestly, Merlin was a little curious to know how they would handle it. Without any evidence to go on, he hoped.

"And you're going to park here," Gwaine said, pointing to the layout of the city map on the largest of his computer screens. "And walk to this point. And then teleport just here."

"Below the camera, in the corner of the room," Merlin said, nodding. "Blind spot."

"And if it all goes to hell," Gwaine said, seriously, straightening to indicate the far-left screen, which showed a frozen image of Arthur on the little cot, "I'll post all this footage to the internet."

"No – send it to the Sun-Star," Merlin told him, grinning as he headed for Gwaine's back door. "Attention Freya McKenzie. She'll take care of it from there."

"Hm," Gwaine grunted, following him. "Any chance she's fifty, fat and ugly?"

Merlin grinned over his shoulder, reaching for the doorknob – and Gwaine startled him, reaching to wrap his arms around him and squeeze.

"You take care of yourself. I mean it. You're the best friend I have."

"Me, too, Gwaine." He thumped his friend's back. "Planning to spread a bit of that to Arthur Flite."

"Let's hope he's worth it," Gwaine sighed.

Almost ready, then.

Merlin drove to the hospital to eat cafeteria food for dinner with Gwen. She was hemming and hawing over another invitation to go out with Lancelot, so if he waxed a little maudlin, she didn't seem to notice.

 _If this goes to hell…_

"Say goodnight, Gwennie," he quipped, in saluting her farewell.

"Goodnight, Gwennie," she returned, cheeks bunching with her smile, and dark eyes dancing at him. "Have fun at the farm."

He drove to a twenty-four-hour all-of-the-above type of megastore, and took until midnight to buy grocery staples – cinnamon rolls, sliced meat and cheese and crackers, a bag of apples and a handful of microwave meals – as well as a package each of new underwear and socks. Stopped back at the motel room to set it up, clothes and food.

Then he took another half an hour to drive about randomly, before ending up in the alley two blocks from the Penned Dragon, where Gwaine had decided it would be best and safest to park. If he timed it right, they'd hit the bar-closing traffic and blend in a little, even at two in the morning.

His palms were damp and his heart beat fast, and he felt both extra-clumsy and ethereally graceful, climbing from the cab to the night air.

Fuel fumes. Distant sirens. Stars invisible behind big-city glow.

He made his way to a spot of shadow just beyond the reach of the back-lot security camera. An SUV and a pickup with a topper in the lot – that would be the two guards on duty for third-shift. Last night they hadn't once opened the door to the little white cell to check on Arthur personally; Merlin hoped that was routine.

His t-shirt wanted to stick to his spine and armpits. His feet didn't want to hold the rest of his body still. He blew his breath out like candles on a birthday cake to control the inclination to hyperventilate – and replaced the air in his lungs with a deep calming breath.

A break in the sidewalk under his left boot. A little bit of a breeze from the northeast, fifty-seven degrees Fahrenheit. Streetlight buzzing faintly at the opposite side of the parking lot. Hope he was close enough.

To the tiny still stale room, white and square and clean, dimly illuminated for the camera's sake–

 _Go._

Merlin put every ounce of effort, of need, of heightened emotion-anticipation-nerves, into the teleportation shift.

Even before he opened his eyes, he knew it had worked. His breath echoed back to him from the close bare walls like he was standing in a closet, playing hide-and-go-seek with eyelids squeezed shut.

It didn't really calm him to open them and find himself in the corner of Arthur's cell, tingly and painless. He resisted the urge to brace himself with his hands on the walls – fingerprints – and focused on Arthur.

Asleep, probably.

 _I'm going to do this. I'm going to abduct a human being – a stranger. What if he… what if he…_

 _No. I'm going to free a friend._

"Arthur!" Merlin hissed. If he so much as swayed forward, he'd be in sight of the camera – he could black it out, he was pretty sure, but he didn't want to leave evidence like that, either. "Arthur! Wake up!"

The figure on the bed stirred – Merlin's impression was, to clear a line of sight to the disruption without actually lifting his head from the pillow.

"Come on!" he added. "It's Merlin – Balinor's son! I can get you out of here if you still want to, if you can trust me. Come over here, and we can leave."

Arthur on the bed shifted again – up onto one elbow, but then no further, and he didn't respond. His face was in shadow, unreadable.

"Come _on_!" Merlin tried again.

What was he supposed to do if Arthur didn't cooperate? Did he not understand? Was he incapable of understanding, after all?

"Rise and shine!" he whispered in unthreatening sing-song. Though Arthur dealt with the spirits of the dead on a daily basis, it probably was a bit unnerving for an almost-stranger to suddenly appear in a person's bedroom. "Let's have you, lazy daisy!"

A small noise from the cot – like a single soft chuckle. Legs swung over the side, and the other pushed upright to shuffle toward Merlin's corner. One hand slightly out, as if to reassure himself of Merlin's presence.

"Close your eyes and trust me," Merlin whispered, wary of reaching into the camera's range.

Arthur's hands bumped his chest, fingers spreading and grasping his t-shirt material – at once endearingly childlike, and frighteningly desperate, and Merlin had his answer. He was close enough for Merlin to grip him and pull him into an embrace similar to the one he'd used, teleporting Gwaine.

Rough cotton scrubs. Hospital smell of soap and detergent – the skin beneath slack and the bones prominent. Arthur was shuddering – but leaned into Merlin.

"I'm dreaming," he whispered.

Merlin smiled, though Arthur couldn't see him. That was all he needed to hear to know that Arthur was perfectly competent, mentally. He focused on the details of the spot just past the parking lot outside, and flexed his magic in readiness.

"I told you – it's time to wake up."

And he _shifted_ them both, away from the Penned Dragon to night air and darkness, and freedom.

 **A/N: Next chapter, Arthur pov!**


	6. What Freedom Means

**A/N: Thank you all for your reviews! In return you get Merlin &Arthur, and an added section of first-time Arthur&Gwen!**

 **Chapter 6: What Freedom Means**

 _Is he there?_

Arthur never had kept track of the days, but quite a few of them had passed since he'd seen Merlin's spirit in the control room with him – and then his body had to be carried by others, out of the meeting room beyond.

Balinor was patient with the consistent negative, but Arthur began to wonder if the older man's spirit would actually tell him if his son had crossed over. That it was Arthur's fault.

He ate the dinner brought to him. He used the toilet. He laid on the bed and dozed, and rarely noticed when the room's light clicked down to the lower nighttime wattage. He did notice the scent that drifted strange through his room – it was wild and alien, insistent and alert.

And he dreamed that he heard Merlin's voice. It was so real – _it was never real_ – that he opened his eyes and moved so that he could see all around his room.

It was never real.

He dreamed that Merlin stood in the corner – _odd, why won't he come over here_ – like the spirits trapped by the crystals in the meeting-room, and tried to coax him up, even resorting to silly childish phrases.

 _Rise and shine. Let's have you, lazy daisy._

That made him smile, and want to obey dream-Merlin, even though it would break his heart when the shadow in the corner of the room dissolved.

Seemed so real, though. He could feel Merlin breathing – how long since he'd actually _touched_ someone – he could feel Merlin's arm around his shoulder, and relaxed into the unusual comfort. How long since anyone had put their arms around him because they wanted to, not because they were making necessary adjustments to his position in the control room.

The world spun.

The temperature dropped, and everything smelled disorderly and large. His ears were assaulted by a sudden barrage of confusing sound, and the very air rioted around him, scraping along his skin. The ground was rough, and freezing. Through the cacophony of sensation, he heard a familiar voice again.

"Here we are. What do you think? How long since you've been outside?"

He opened his eyes, and rocked back on his heels with the shock. The dark was so dark, the lights so uncertain. No walls – no ceiling.

Words came to mind, out of the hundreds of thousands of conversations he'd overheard, and of the several that seemed appropriate, Arthur said, " _Damn_."

Beside him, still supporting and protecting him, Merlin laughed softly. "Did you know you were in the middle of a big city?"

What a crazy dream. Arthur tightened his hold on the front of Merlin's shirt, and resisted his companion's encouragement to walk. If he moved, he might float away into the air – into the atmosphere – away to the space between stars, which he understood was enormous and empty.

He might wake up.

"Does the ground hurt your feet?" Merlin said. "Or you're just not used to walking much? We've got to get moving – they'll see that you've gone, and do something. Call somebody. Come on, one step at a time, you can do it." He turned in Arthur's grip, and ended up beneath Arthur's arm, which felt perfect.

He let his feet stutter and cringe over the ground – the words _sidewalk_ and _street_ came to mind – and after a few moments of adjusting, he found his focus averting to the young man trying to keep him from stumbling. Merlin smelled sharp, just enough of fear to be highly alert, active and interesting. He wasn't big, lean but strong, and the effect of the streetlights and their movement on his black hair was mesmerizing.

"You all right?" Merlin said, twisting his head under the crook of Arthur's elbow to give him a quick glance.

"Mm hm." Arthur hummed his approval of this dream.

It didn't seem to reassure Merlin. "You're taking this all very calmly," he said, sounding short of breath, halting their movement to study the street around them. "Gwaine needed a drink, after, and he _knew_ what to expect…"

 _Gwaine?_

Arthur was curious about Merlin, which was kind of a new feeling for him. So many people came and went - so many spirits - and the ones who didn't, the ones in the control room with him, ignored him like he was part of the equipment, or they were. He let his head bob low on his neck, to inhale deeply through his nose, just near Merlin's black hair. It smelled clean, fresh like the scent they put in soaps, but under that was something else – the wild insistency he'd noticed in his room, mixed with scalp-sweat, maybe. Which meant that smell belonged intrinsically to the younger man. He breathed it in again, so he would always remember Merlin.

"Are you sniffing my hair?" Merlin said, sounding both amused and annoyed.

Arthur couldn't reconcile the disparity. Which was it? Merlin was going to laugh at him, or retreat in irritation?

"What's wrong with you?"

He was just slightly out of control of his limbs, and idea became action without consideration. Usually he just lay on his cot and floated… He said, "I think they put something in my food at night."

"What do you mean, every night?" Merlin sounded surprised now, irritation and amusement both gone.

Arthur wasn't surprised; he knew emotion could come and go like that from his observations, but it did make it hard to understand and interact. But thankfully the moment was over.

"This is us," Merlin panted, guiding him to a large dark vehicle – a pickup truck. He leaned Arthur against the cool smooth metal to open the passenger-side door – then turned to step away.

Arthur snatched at him again. It might be possible to get lost in this dream – and in any case, he didn't want to lose this companion.

"Hey, it's all right," Merlin said soothingly. Arthur tried to memorize his face – the quirk of his smile, the lines of his nose and cheekbones and jaw, the expression of humor and caring in his eyes that was so strange and precious. "I'm just going around to the driver's seat. Get in – I'll shut the door behind you."

The interior of the truck – glowing in the sturdy yellow roof-light – was warm and smelled like grease. Like grease, and grease, both kinds. Arthur's legs felt as strong as gravy, pushing himself up to the seat – and the floor felt gritty under his soles. He pulled his feet up onto the seat, relaxing into the corner after Merlin closed the door.

He watched the other trail his fingers around the frame of the front of the truck, head turned alertly outward; Merlin paused for a moment before opening the door and leaping confidently into his seat. Smooth, efficient movements – shutting the door behind him without even thinking about it, handling the key – tendons of fingers-hand-wrist standing out as he started the engine.

Which startled Arthur – clash and grumble and mutter and _music_. He put his hands over his ears reactively – Merlin glanced at him and reached for a knob on the equipment panel. The music was silenced – which helped Arthur, less to deal with – but he missed it, too.

Merlin moved a lever, lifted his knee, glanced about – with no purpose Arthur could see – and the truck moved forward.

Every nerve sparked, and every muscle seized. He couldn't remember ever moving so fast – or in a vehicle! – and the lights flashed and the noises slammed past too fast for him to flinch, and perspiration broke out all over his body.

But Merlin. His spine was straight and leaned him forward just a little bit. Even in profile Arthur could see that his eyebrows were lifted and he was grinning to himself. Excitement and triumph – Merlin's whole body was alive and strong and in control. And watching him, Arthur was able to persuade his own body to relax.

He let his head sink down to the seat back, bumping with the movement of the truck, though not painfully. His eyes dropped closed, flared open, and closed again. Noise pressed all around him, vibration and distraction.

"Arthur?"

He struggled to open his eyes again, feeling a bit exhausted – though not quite ready to lose this. He said without thinking, "I'm dreaming."

Merlin looked sideways at him, twice. "You have an unusual ability that can't be explained," he said. "You connect to spirits, call them back through the veil – something they can't do on their own."

"Only my mother," Arthur said. "But I let her go. The rest… I mean, I can sense the veil, but the further we go, the further away I am from it." He hadn't said so much to someone in _years_ , but Merlin didn't act like he thought it anything unusual.

"Those crystals," he said, tilting his head toward Arthur but keeping his gaze focused forward. "They fasten your connection?"

Arthur didn't answer. Probably? Yes? Maybe?

"Huh," Merlin said. "Well, the thing is… I have certain abilities, too. One of which, it seems, is teleportation. I can shift from one place to another in a second, without actually, physically traveling the distance."

Arthur thought about that. "Why do you have a car?"

Merlin laughed right out loud, head tipped back and teeth gleaming in a way that turned Arthur's lips in an echoing smile. "Because it's a new ability I just learned and because you know how people can be about magic."

"Magic," Arthur repeated, and remembered the strange scent in his room, on Merlin after they'd… _teleported_?

"The inexplicable. Anyway, suffice to say, this is real. You're not dreaming. I teleported into your cell and brought you out of that place with me. You're free – your life is your own choice, from now on."

"This is real," Arthur repeated again.

He'd been tied to the veil so long, tethered and bound, a little tighter every day, crushed by imperceptibly closer walls. He wanted _out_ and _away_ , so he could breathe, so everything wouldn't always be another spirit and another, another another another.

But now.

Who was he, if not the veil-keeper? What was he? Where did he belong, if not within those two tiny rooms, shuffled from chair to bed and back again… nowhere.

 _Alone_ seemed a rather soothing prospect, but – where would he sleep? How was he to eat?

Space and time expanded away from him, and he was lost.

"Hey. Arthur."

He felt a hand on his forearm, and instinctively twisted his hand to catch hold. Opening his eyes to the blur and fall of inadvertent tears, he realized the truck was stopped, the engine off – and Merlin was leaning over the center console.

"I'm here," Merlin added, and the intensity in his eyes caught Arthur's attention from the light-and-dark contrast outside the vehicle, or any curiosity over their destination reached. "Listen to me. I know everything is going to be… overwhelming, for a while. But I will be with you and help you, as much as I can possibly manage, til you find your feet."

Arthur studied him, and the sincerity struck him as rare. He was familiar with promises – they were fragile things, easily broken and best not depended upon. People were selfish, and liars – and trust was something proven by time, rather than extended blindly. But what Merlin said, he could believe. He didn't try to assure Arthur that he could do the impossible – _as much as I can_ _possibly manage_ sounded practical, and he liked Merlin for that.

"I have a room," Merlin went on. "Bed and bathroom and food. We can get some sleep now, and in the morning you can have a shower and borrow some real clothes and after breakfast… Well, we can talk about _after_ , after breakfast." He squeezed Arthur's wrist, and Arthur released him.

Merlin flipped the keys, fishing a phone from a space in the center console. He opened the door with a quick careless movement, pushing it outward and hopping out, fast and easy and collected.

Arthur studied his door a moment before tentatively trying a little silver bar – which disengaged the latch. He pushed it – pushed it harder – and Merlin was there to hold it back and watch him put his bare feet down on the cracked, pebbly pavement.

"I didn't think about shoes for you," Merlin said, his tone lighter, now. "What do you think you might want to wear?"

Arthur looked down at his feet, bony and white and vulnerable.

"Flip-flops," Merlin suggested, sounding almost like he was laughing at Arthur – but not quite.

There was no one else there to make laugh at Arthur's expense – it occurred to him that Merlin was joking _with_ him, not _about_ him. It made a lot of difference.

"Hip waders? Combat boots? Running shoes?"

"One of each?" Arthur proposed, light-headed, himself. His arms wouldn't unwrap from his chest, but he allowed Merlin to guide him by the elbow, turning toward one door in a line of doors.

"One of each won't do you much good, you need pairs," Merlin observed, pulling a card from his pocket and inserting it into a square metal box by the doorknob. It blinked, and clicked, and he leaned on the door to open it, reaching across Arthur to flick the lights on.

The room was enormous. Four times the size of Arthur's, and both beds were twice as wide as… his used to be. He hadn't experienced feelings for so long but boredom and depression – except curiosity. That was better than anxiety, and he decided to focus on that.

Smelled funny, though. Unpleasantly so.

"Come inside," Merlin said, watching over his shoulder.

Arthur obeyed, reluctant to walk on the carpet. It felt sticky, and gritty, different than sidewalks and streets and parking lots – because indoors was supposed to be clean, and this wasn't.

Merlin closed the door immediately, and slid a sort of bolt over the doorframe – with himself inside. _Their_ room, then. He wondered if Merlin had already decided the answers to his questions – who he was now, and what he was supposed to do.

"If you don't care which bed you sleep in," Merlin told him, bringing his phone to life. "I slept in that one last night."

He indicated the further one, and as he set the phone to his ear to move toward the back of the room, Arthur considered, then made a leap onto the closer one, so he didn't have to take another step on the floor. Merlin threw a grin over his shoulder.

"Hey, Gwaine," he said into the phone, and Arthur remembered that he'd said it before. A person's name, then. "What's going on?"

This bed was springy, in spite of the limp, worn state of the cover. Arthur crawled toward the pillows – two? just for him? – and pulled the cover down to find the sheets. Dingy and fraying and maybe stained, but laundered, he believed. He set the pillows on top of each other, sat with his back to them, and tucked himself down between the sheets, spreading arms and legs as far as they would go to feel the novelty of a large bed, and two pillows under his head.

"Well, that's good, isn't it?" Merlin said into the phone.

He stepped absently through an open door, and flicked another light switch to show tile, a sink and a mirror over it, which startled Arthur briefly, movement in the room behind Merlin that was just reflection. It had been so long since he looked in a mirror – what did he look like now?

"If they're searching the building, it means they think he _might've_ gotten out of the room on his own," Merlin said, closing the door almost all the way, before wandering back into the main room. He went to the door and flicked the lights off – then crossed the thin line of illumination from the bathroom door. "Uh huh. No, I expect them to call Uther."

Merlin twisted to look at Arthur as he sat on the foot of the bed; he looked back and felt tension sink away from him into the mattress, along with his whole spread-out body. It was a surprisingly pleasant sensation, and made him drowsy.

"If they call the cops, Gwaine, I want to know. Send me a text or something. Otherwise, just… right, keep an eye on things… No… Yeah, thanks. Everything fine with Parks?"

Arthur watched Merlin pull his bootheel to the edge of the bed, and unlace it one-handed – then switched the phone to his other hand to loosen his other boot.

"Okay, good. I'll check out Leon the Locksmith when I get a chance. Gwaine – thank you. I mean it… Yeah, I'll let you know. Bye."

Merlin turned to crawl toward the pillows of the other bed. His phone clattered as he deposited it onto the table between them, and Arthur heard the swish of the covers being drawn over him.

"Well, we're safe for now." Merlin grunted; it sounded like he was rolling over, seeking a comfortable position. "Get some sleep. Good night, Arthur."

No one had said that to him for years. It felt good, something family would say, while they were sharing a bedroom because they cared. People who were looking out for each other.

So Arthur answered, "Good night."

He woke once while it was still dark, terrified by the sounds of chaos and destruction.

A horn sounded – a dozen horns, all blaring the same note of unmistakable warning. Underneath that, increasing exponentially, a rumble of thunder that didn't die away but went on and on until the whole room was vibrating.

The end of the world. An earthquake. The collapse of a multi-story building next door, right onto them.

Arthur didn't scream. He'd stopped screaming long ago, when he finally learned it didn't do any good. Every muscle tightened, coiling into knots til his whole body ached and he couldn't breathe.

Then another sound interrupted, a rustle of cloth much closer than the threatening growl and roar from outside, and his eyes flew open.

A line of light lay across the form of another person, sprawled in another bed in the same room as him. Head turned on the pillow – tousled black hair, and Merlin blinked blearily at him.

He began to relax, even before Merlin slurred, " 'S just th' train. G' back t' sleep."

Merlin twisted in his sheets, flopping to his belly and burrowing his head into the pillow, leaving only a fraction of his nose and mouth showing, and one arm swinging carelessly over the side of the bed.

The rumble and blare continued, but Arthur's fear drained away to see Merlin so unconcerned. It was all so different out here, but he wasn't alone – Merlin wouldn't let anything happen to him if he could help it, and he trusted that there was a great deal Merlin could handily prevent.

He wasn't alone, anymore.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Merlin opened groggy eyes and had to wait a moment for cobwebs in his brain to part. The heavy curtains over the window gave no indication of the time of day, and it was with a feeling of disbelief that he eyed the bedside clock. 11:31. His stomach growled.

The lump that was Arthur under the cover of the other bed didn't stir; Merlin stifled the groan that got him upright.

Physically, Arthur was a weak and thin twenty-five. Mentally and emotionally – Merlin wasn't sure. He'd been six years old when normal life ended for him, but… how had what had come after, affected his development?

Patience, Merlin decided, not patronization. Expect him to be self-sufficient and independent, but be ready to step in and help without irritating him.

He wanted a shower, but wasn't sure Arthur wouldn't wake and leave the room for some reason – he wasn't sure to what extent Arthur was aware that they needed to exercise caution, so he wouldn't end up back where he started. And Merlin six feet under, maybe. Swimming with the fishes. Wearing cement boots.

Merlin took a change of clothes into the bathroom, stripped to his underpants and scrubbed with soap and dingy threadbare washcloth, deciding to leave his hair for another time. Then, having changed into clean clothes and left Arthur's out for him, he let the bathroom door stand as wide open as it could for the light – since the curtains to the parking lot should probably stay drawn.

Arthur hadn't moved.

Merlin studied him a moment til he was satisfied with the rise-and-fall of breathing, then went to the room's mini-fridge for cinnamon rolls and an apple and a bottle of water. Sitting on the end of his bed, he turned on the tv with the volume low, and skimmed programs – cartoons, women's talk shows, sports, news. The weather, global and national news. The only local bit making it onto the section was a hold-up of a gas station on the other side of the city. Everyone was to be sympathetic for the clerk and single mother customer who were in critical condition, and on the lookout for this suspect, photo taken from security cameras.

Nothing about the Penned Dragon. Merlin didn't know whether to be relieved or not.

He texted Freya. **I'm not dead yet**.

A moment later his phone buzzed with the response. **Good. We still have an unscheduled date. Be safe.**

He built a little rosebud with commas and ellipses, and she sent back a squinty-eyed smiley-face.

And Arthur still hadn't moved. Merlin turned the tv volume up and crushed his empty water bottle to toss into the trashcan with a rattle. He cleared his throat and scuffed his boots on the carpet. And Arthur still didn't move.

"Hey," he said experimentally. "Arthur? You can sleep again tonight. It's quarter to one in the afternoon – there's food, and we can talk about… where we're going. What we're doing. Arthur?"

Yeah, he was still breathing.

Merlin went around to the side of the bed Arthur was facing, and drew the covers back. The sheet felt heavy and damp in his hand – and when he put his hand on Arthur's shoulder to give him a little shake, the heat that radiated from his body startled Merlin.

"Arthur?"

The young man moaned in response to his touch, shifting slightly, but coming nowhere near fully awake.

Merlin whirled to slap at the light switch on the wall by the door behind him, and turned back to Arthur with a sinking feeling that settled in his gut like a rock. Arthur's eyes were half-open, glazed and unfocused and not tracking Merlin. His shorn scalp glistened with perspiration through a bristle of fine light hair, and his lips were dry to the point of cracking.

Oh, damn.

Merlin crouched on the floor beside the bed, laying the backs of his fingers to Arthur's sweaty forehead. The question wasn't _whether_ , it was _how high_.

"Arthur?" he tried again.

The blue gaze found him, after a moment, and Arthur worked to moisten his mouth for speech. "Don't feel good."

"Yeah, you don't look good," Merlin answered, glad that he was at least coherent. "Do you think you'll be all right by yourself for a while if I run out to get a few things, or…" Merlin wasn't sure of the alternative – taking him to the hospital was probably tantamount to taking him back to the Penned Dragon, and even a clinic visit might get them caught sooner or later.

Arthur closed his eyes and retreated from the choice. Which was probably fair, Merlin conceded, bouncing up and finding enough space on the edge of the bed to perch.

If they traced him and Arthur here, he could probably divert attention long enough to escape again, go on the run more literally. But if he was out at the corner drugstore – hoping to pick the right meds…

He turned onto one knee, leaning over Arthur to snag his phone from the bedside table. Probably this was a really bad idea… Calling up his contacts list, he hit the button to call the second number stored there.

Three rings. "Merlin? Is everything okay?"

"Are you on shift right now?" he asked, glancing over at the clock and trying to remember what day it was.

"I'm just off. Heading to the subway now, actually. I thought you went to the farm on vacation – what's going on?"

"I…" He hesitated, hating to lie to Gwen. Well, keep it simple and close to the truth – that was the first rule of effective prevarication. "I decided to stay for a few days, finish up a case – but my witness is sick and I can't take him anywhere, for his own safety."

He heard her sigh through the phone. Then, "Symptoms?"

Best damn nurse he knew. "He's burning up, sweating, and groggy." Behind him in the bed, a spasm of deep coughing racked Arthur's body. "Hear that?"

"Yeah." Moment of silence. "Well, there's a bug going around right now, it's probably that. Where are you? I'll get some stuff and meet you."

He supposed it made sense of a sort, that Arthur had been protected in those sterile little rooms for years, when he got out he'd be bombarded with germs his immune system was unfamiliar with. And this place wasn't exactly disinfected.

Giving her directions to the motel, he promised, "I'll pay you back, whatever you spend. And if you ever need me to tail a boyfriend…"

"I'd dump him first." Humor was back in his step-sister's voice, which had been his goal with that offer. "All right, I'll see you."

" 'Kay, bye."

Merlin pocketed his phone, and threw back the cover, straightening the dampened sheet before folding it over the blanket.

"Come on, Arthur," he said. "A warm washcloth, a dry towel, and a clean shirt. You'll feel better. My sister's coming with medicine – she's a nurse, you'll like her."

Arthur obeyed all three suggestions with childish passivity; Merlin debated whether it was due to his abusive upbringing or debilitation from fever, and couldn't decided which he'd rather it was.

"Drink water," he told Arthur, too warm and unresisting under his hands, balancing on the side of the tub. "Use the toilet, here, and you can lay back down til-"

A knock sounded on the door, and Merlin's heart jumped before he recognized it, light and cheerful rather than the heavily demanding pounding he might expect from Uther's private security. Arthur didn't seem to notice; Merlin left him in the bathroom to go answer the door.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

The bathroom tilted, and Arthur gripped the sink to keep from falling into the enormous bathtub as he rose somewhat shakily to his feet.

Merlin seemed worried about him. Arthur found he wasn't much concerned – the vague dizziness wasn't uncomfortable, and though the coughing burned his throat, it did clear his lungs for a bit.

He curled his fingers around the bottle of water, and steadied himself to look in the mirror. Once again rejecting a budding fear, in favor of curiosity.

Would he look like his father? Or maybe Uncle Agravaine?

Black t-shirt, borrowed from Merlin, showing stick figures and words that were backwards in the reflection. Tight from shoulder to shoulder, but baggy otherwise – the dark color was odd after wearing the same white for years. He dragged his eyes higher, finally to his face.

He couldn't see his uncle in the features staring back at him at all, which relieved him before he could block the emotion. Maybe only hints of his father in the brow and jaw and nose lines. He wondered if he might look like his mother.

And if that was part of the reason his father couldn't stand to be in the same room as him.

He heard voices from the bedroom, and remembered what Merlin had said about expecting a visitor. His sister, a nurse.

Arthur turned away from the mirror to stare at the back of the bathroom door, leaning on the sink to stay upright. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but it took some doing to flip gut-clenching fear over to curiosity, this time.

He knew nurses. There was nothing to like.

"…Still in the bathroom," Merlin's voice said, suddenly louder – and two quick knocks tried to jerk Arthur's spine straight in reaction, before the door pushed open.

Arthur searched the blue eyes that met his own – _time builds trust_ – and found nothing but concern. No impatience, no disappointment, even though Arthur knew he wasn't at peak operating capacity, and that surely inconvenienced the young man who'd removed him from the Penned Dragon.

"All right?" Merlin asked him. "Want to come sit down? Gwen will take your temperature, first of all."

Arthur had no idea if he wanted to come sit down. He did want to keep his distance from the nurse – but his wants and desires were always ignored, so he ignored them himself. Obeying Merlin's intention with the question, he stumbled from the sticky tile of the bathroom to the sticky carpet of the room – socks made no difference – and it was a good thing he was close to the bed when he saw the nurse.

Because his knees disappeared, and he sat so suddenly he bounced, his balance sloshing all over like the water in his stomach.

She was young. She was different, so different from the nurses he'd known. Like Dr. Morgause, they'd all been fair, as far as he remembered – of course he knew that women came in all shapes and sizes and colors, just like men, but-

Her skin was dark. Her eyes were dark, keen and kind. Her hair was black, and so tightly curled it looked fascinatingly springy, and he wanted to touch it. Her nurse's uniform wasn't white, it was _lavender_ , and she smelled like that too, along with the disinfectant of her profession.

"So you're AJ," she said, flicking a tiny slender instrument. "Open up. Under your tongue."

He obeyed her too, turning his head carefully to find Merlin with his eyes. _AJ_? Merlin leaned backward against the closed outside door, watching – he gave Arthur a quick grin that was confusingly sheepish and cheeky, at once.

Then the nurse – Gwen, he remembered – captured his attention again, touching his head and eyelids to look inside his eyes. He held very still as she picked up his hand to press her fingers beside the tendons in his wrist, eyes on her wrist-watch.

"If you'd called half an hour sooner," she said over her shoulder to her – wait, brother? they didn't look anything alike. "I could have brought my scope. As it is – please just breathe deeply, AJ, and pardon my invasion of your personal space."

Arthur straightened a bit as she ducked her head – and froze motionless when she pressed her face to his chest. Bare skin, as she'd pulled down the collar of his shirt. He almost forgot to breathe, but the scene of her hair drifted, and he tried to inhale deeply without causing himself to cough.

By the door, Merlin gave him a reassuring smile.

Then she was moving, efficiently and dispassionately and he was a little in awe of her, though this was the sort of care he was more used to. She knelt on the bed, pulling up the black t-shirt to bare his back, and once again pressing the side of her face to him. In different places, and he fought the urge to shiver at the feel of cold air and curly tendrils of her hair.

The instrument in his mouth chirped, and Gwen smoothed down his shirt to retrieve it – telling him to open his mouth wide and make a noise so she could scrutinize his throat before checking the mouth-instrument. Arthur realized he was gripping handfuls of bedsheet beside his legs, and let go, trying to work some spit around his mouth.

"Yeah…" Gwen said, and gave him a gorgeously sympathetic smile that sent an electric shock of responding emotion along his spine. Nurses didn't meet his eye, ever – or smile. "I'm pretty sure it's that crap that's going around – not anything worse like pneumonia or strep or bronchitis. Keep an eye on it and take meds and precautions, obviously, so it doesn't develop…"

"What about…" Merlin hesitated, as Gwen bent to rustle in a plastic bag, opening little white boxes to remove little white bottles. She glanced up at him and paused; his eyes flicked briefly to Arthur's face. "Withdrawal symptoms? From – oh, say a sleeping aid at least, maybe regular mild sedative?"

Gwen straightened, thinking – and thinking, he saw as she glanced at him, also. "There are symptoms for that – but nothing that presents like an upper respiratory. Why? I thought you said-"

"Don't worry about it," Merlin interrupted her. "I can't explain – for your own good – please just trust me."

Gwen rolled her eyes and sighed – though the show of aggravation seemed to relax rather than annoy Merlin. Arthur wasn't sure he wanted to draw attention from either of them in that moment, but she handled her bottles with swift expertise, and he found himself swallowing two large orange pills and one small white one, with the water in the bottle Merlin retrieved from the bathroom. Yet another, pale yellow and tasting of honey and lemon, he was told to suck on til it dissolved.

"There, that should help," Gwen told him. "Take your temperature again in a couple hours, it should go down."

He thought it odd that she should be telling _him_ , like he was responsible, but – oh, that meant she wasn't staying.

"I wish I could drive you home," Merlin said. "I could call… Gwaine, maybe…"

"No, thanks." Gwen was definite, which made Arthur curious about this Gwaine that they both knew. "I could call Lancelot, if I wanted. But the subway's not far-"

"This neighborhood -" Merlin started.

"You called me here!" Gwen interrupted, but she was smiling. "Anyway it's broad daylight and folks like this respect the backbone of the medical profession." She shot Arthur another smile, that made him feel _included_ before he knew it – then frowned. "AJ, you should probably lay down and sleep, you look pretty peaky. Here."

Efficiency, again. She plumped his pillows, and moved the blanket out of his way as he tipped into their comfort, arranging the bedding around him like no one had ever, since-

His mother.

He closed his eyes and breathed in her lavender – and she ran a gentle hand over his hair.

"I'll see you later, boys," she said. "Feel better, AJ. Merlin, he seems a quiet one, don't talk his ear off, okay?"

"Don't come unless I call you," Merlin told her, far away at the door, and their voices were fading out like the light through Arthur's eyelids. "Might be dangerous."

"Merlin, my job can be just as dangerous as yours, on occasion," she said.

Arthur smiled to himself, surprised and a little delighted at how easy it was to like people. Trust… he could worry about that when he wasn't so dizzy anymore.

"Thanks, Gwen," he croaked aloud, squinting at their silhouettes in the open doorway.

"Anytime. It was nice to meet you."

"And you," he murmured, before sleep rose softly to take him.


	7. Developments and Disguises

**Chapter 7: Developments and Disguises**

"What does it look like?" Merlin said to Gwaine on the phone, lounging in the open doorway of the motel room. Fresh air for a sick patient, and all, and he could use the phone without disturbing Arthur, who was again a motionless lump under the covers of the near bed.

"They went over the facility with a fine-tooth comb, Uther Flite and Dr. Morgause, both," Gwaine told him. "Wish those cameras had audio, but… I mean, they can't track you at all, but they _know_ about you because there's nothing to track, y'know? Unless they figure Arthur managed it on his own, somehow… but we're probably not that lucky."

"No," Merlin agreed, kicking at the bottom of the doorway. There were two dilapidated cars in the lot, and every now and then someone walked past on the street, but nothing to arouse suspicion or worry.

"There were a couple of patrol cars in the parking lot for a couple of hours this afternoon, and Uther went out to talk to them, but they didn't go inside, and then left him there. Doubt they'd file missing-persons with the police, but there isn't an APB on your truck, if that makes you feel better." Gwaine's voice deepened slightly with gravity. "If they can't get ahead of you and stop you and get him back, they're going to spare no expense _tracking down_ whoever was responsible."

"I know," Merlin said. That's why he laid out the stories of a case and a witness and trip to the farm, why he let Lee Parks make him as an observer. "Say, did we know Lee Parks had a son – or maybe a nephew? That wasn't in his file, was it? Leon Willenbrink, a locksmith." And no wonder he used his first name to reference his business.

Sound of keys clattering, and Gwaine hummed, thoughtfully negative. "Hm, no. Hilde Willenbrink, his mother, is squeaky clean, though – maybe she severed ties with her criminal ex to give her kid that clean shot, too."

"Yeah. Might be an interesting lead for the three-mil, though, the guy's only kid and he was never there for him."

Made for an interesting comparison to the grown son sleeping on the motel bed, too. Fathers and sons were always thought-provoking themes – take Balinor, or Gwaine's father… or Will's…

"Hey Merlin," Gwaine said, a little too casually. "What's he like?"

"He's… stable. I mean, a little shaky at first, which is totally understandable. But he didn't freak out last night, over the teleportation or the shock of freedom or even the damn train that went through at four-thirty this morning. He's quiet… I don't know. Guess we'll wait and see what develops."

"You two are on your way out of town?"

Merlin grimaced to himself. "Not yet. He came down with a respiratory thing, and Gwen put him on meds, but-"

"Gwen?" His friend's tone was sharp. "I thought you were going to keep your family out of this."

"I was," he said. "I am. She doesn't know who he is, really – she's not an accessory."

"I have a feeling Uther Flite decides those things for himself," Gwaine warned him. "All right. My ear's to the ground for you boys – take off to safety ASAP, and let me know when you're back. Or if you need anything. Whatever comes first."

"I owe you," Merlin told him.

He could hear Gwaine's grin as his friend rang off with, "No, you don't."

Two hours later Arthur opened his eyes and sat up to have his temperature taken. Down a point and a half, and he ate half a roll and an apple in small, tentative bites as a late dinner – and looked exhausted when he was done.

Merlin shoved him to the other side of the bed, and left the sheets open where he didn't need them, to air out. This place, they wouldn't get maid service at all unless they paid for it, and bullied the management into ordering it, and followed the girl to make sure it was done. After Arthur settled into his new position and closed his eyes, Merlin microwaved some pasta and chicken in sauce and sat down to watch the tv flicker over some cop drama.

Then Freya called.

"What did you do at the Penned Dragon?" she demanded, instead of saying hello. "Wait – don't answer that."

"What happened?" he asked.

"You know we have this running thing with the Raymond Syndicate – we attack the Penned Dragon, they defend it? One of my colleagues, the guy who's assigned to that running story, wants to write a piece speculating on why the place was closed today – and has canceled all appointments for next week. He says he doesn't buy _renovations_ – no customer warnings or workmen or vans. So I figured…"

"They lost their lynchpin," Merlin said, and he couldn't help the satisfaction in his voice.

"Hells, Merlin," she said mournfully. "You're a criminal, now."

"Not even almost," he told her cheerfully. "It's like stealing from a thief – they didn't tell the cops or the news the truth, how could they? so we only have to stay clear of Uther's hirelings."

She grunted, and it sounded cute, over the phone. "If the guy could do that to his own son, think what's they'll do if they catch you."

"I won't be taken alive," he said flippantly.

"Merlin." She sighed. "Be careful, both of you, all right? And see if Arthur is agreeable for an exclusive, if it ever comes to that."

"None but you," Merlin assured her, amused.

"Okay, I've got to go – but you can pretend we spent another five minutes on the line flirting."

"Only five?" he said with mock dismay.

"Good _bye_." He could hear the smile in her voice, too.

At 4:30 in the morning, he heard the train again. He opened his eyes to check on Arthur – who was clutching his pillow with wide eyes and clenched jaw.

He seemed to relax a bit to lock eyes with Merlin, and spoke. "Just the train."

Merlin grunted, rolling over to face him; probably it was going to take Arthur a little while to go back to sleep. "Did you ever play with trains when you were a kid?"

Arthur relaxed even more, as he thought. "I had a little one. Three cars. Engine, caboose, flat car. Magnets held them together, and there were… wooden tracks that fit together like puzzle pieces. Made a circle. Round and round."

"I don't know about round and round," Merlin said, pleased to have gotten so many words out of the other young man – pleased also that he remembered good things about his distant childhood, ended when he entered the Penned Dragon. "But I kind of love the whistle. Maybe not quite so close and in the middle of the night – it sounds kind of like a horn up close, huh? I like the way it's always moving on from somewhere else, going through my city, on to a new one. It sounds like… possibilities. Opportunities. Potential."

Arthur said thoughtfully, "Change."

Maybe conversation was easier when he wasn't just asking Arthur questions that required simple answers – or more complicated choices Arthur wasn't ready to make. When he wasn't giving advice that Arthur just obeyed.

After a moment, Arthur said, "I'm sorry."

Merlin twisted around where he could see him better. "What for?"

Arthur drew his knees up under the covers, and pulled the blanket closer under his chin, but he didn't look away. "About your friend."

"Will," Merlin said, and felt a pang of loss. Of missing the close companionship of school years, of regret that it hadn't been better, after.

"Your dad was worried about you, after it happened."

He rolled to his back to smile toward the ceiling – and tried to swallow the tears that pricked his eyes. "Sometimes life sucks," he said lightly. "But sometimes it really, really doesn't. You'll have to learn to balance the bad with the good. And never give up."

A moment of silence, before Arthur said tentatively, "Will gave up."

"Yeah," Merlin said. "I miss him. I have other friends, though, that helps make up for it – maybe you'll meet them someday."

"Like Gwen, your sister? What… does your mother look like?"

Merlin realized, because he did look quite like his father, and of course not at all like Gwen, since they weren't related by blood. "Step-sister. Her dad married my mom a few years ago."

"They didn't give up," Arthur observed quietly.

"No… The man I'm taking you to see, his name is Gaius. He's my friend, though he lives a couple hours out in the country – we used to work together, but he's retired, now."

"Gaius?" Arthur said.

Insomnia didn't seem to worry Arthur, and as long as he kept asking questions, Merlin kept answering. About Gaius – then about his job as a P.I. – then about the farm.

And he was satisfied – heartened, even – in the choice he'd made, helping Arthur escape, and their chances of ultimate success. Curiosity was probably the best thing to draw Arthur mentally and emotionally, out of those tiny white rooms; if he _wanted_ to explore the outside world, he needed only direction and guidance. Encouragement and confidence, to make his own choices and discover his own preferences and ambition.

As it turned out, Arthur didn't require much in the way of care at all.

Merlin encouraged him into the shower in the morning – the bed left open to dry from his night-sweats – and some sausage and cheese with crackers, then a nap. Then Arthur opened his eyes to watch early afternoon reality-tv for a while – Merlin glancing at him every so often and wondering how much he was taking in, but thought it would be rude and condescending to ask – and another nap. He was agreeable, willing and obedient when Merlin took his temperature, gave him meds and water and various offerings of food, and lay pretty much still, else. He even coughed quietly.

And as Merlin was standing in the doorway to get some more fresh air in the room, as the sun went down, Gwaine called again.

"Are you and Arthur still in town?"

"Yeah," Merlin answered, "he's starting to feel a bit better, but-"

"It'll be on the news, probably," Gwaine said abruptly, not waiting for an update of Arthur's physical condition. "But they've got roadblocks around the city, now. As far as I can tell, it's for that convenience-store robbery – the suspect, and now they're saying he had an accomplice, but…"

"Gives you a funny feeling?" Merlin said, glancing about the parking lot. Roadblocks sounded like something Uther could persuade the police commissioner to sign off on. At least for a while…

"Are you two still clean?" Gwaine said. "Not collecting watchers? Even if they use the cops to find you, they won't tell them the truth. They'll snatch you up so fast…"

"Maybe the roadblock situation is meant to make whoever helped Arthur panic," Merlin suggested, "and they catch us when we bolt."

"Or maybe it's to make you think, they think you're leaving town, so you're safe staying put," Gwaine countered, "when really they're sneaking up behind you to catch you."

A shiver rippled through Merlin, and he didn't like it. He said lightly, "Paranoid much?"

"All the time. It's why I'm still living in my own damn basement, and not languishing away behind bars."

"Did you just say _languishing_?" Merlin laughed.

"Shut up." Gwaine ended the call without offense.

Merlin didn't stop thinking about what Gwaine had said, though, and he already had the same funny feeling about the road-blocks.

They couldn't have given Arthur's name to the police, could they? Not at roadblock-manning levels, not if the news hadn't publicized the fact of Uther's son. Possibly a few men at the top of the power pyramid, trusted enough to be allies, to be told a version of the truth – _my son, the reclusive scientist, integral to the efficacy of the equipment used in the facility, abducted_ … No, not abducted, that required official paperwork. Mysterious disappearance, then…

Though they might not even do that. Merlin thought of the questions he would ask in investigating someone's disappearance – and they weren't questions Uther could answer honestly. More likely he knew which men in power would be the sort of ally to do an illicit favor knowingly. Find this guy, no questions asked.

He found another number in his contacts list, and called it. Seriously hoping he was not overstepping bounds of friendship. "Lancelot? Hey, have you got a minute?"

Sounds of music and boisterous voices in the background. "I'm off duty. Having a drink with the guys – hang on while I get somewhere quieter." Merlin listened to the little sounds of him walking, the fading noise of the bar. "What's up?"

"What can you tell me about these road-blocks?" Merlin asked, congratulating himself on the diplomatic phrasing. "Who are they trying to catch?"

"You haven't been watching the news?" Lancelot said, unworried. "The single mom that was shot in the convenience-store robbery died in ICU. They arrested the man responsible, but now they're saying he had an accomplice – the mastermind responsible for a string of armed robberies. Evidently the shooter in custody claimed that this partner was assembling bombs with the intent to sell and export them to other cities. And so on and so on. With the shooter on the inside and spilling his guts, they think the partner will try to skip town… hence the net."

"Do they have a name on the guy?" Merlin asked, his heart turning to lead and beginning to sink.

"No, just an alias… Merlin, keep your distance from this one. It feels dangerous – not only the guy, but how it's being handled. From the top down, and no explanations."

Merlin shivered again. The sun was down, the air was chill. And, he told himself, the injured woman's passing was _not_ due to any further foul play.

"So at the road-blocks," he said, "how will you know it's him?"

"There's a sketch, and a physical description," Lancelot said. "I guess he's real anti-social, awkward with interaction. We'll catch him."

"How long will they keep the blocks up?" Merlin asked. Maybe it would be possible to wait it out. "I can't imagine people are happy with the back-ups in traffic."

"Guess they'd rather be late than blown up. It feels like they're not going to let up til the guy is caught… Seriously, watch the news. The sketch is going to be everywhere – and if people know, the sooner he's caught, the sooner their lives go back to normal…"

"Yeah," Merlin agreed, his mouth dry. "Everyone's a deputy. Well, I guess it'll just take me a little longer to get out to the farm for my vacation."

"Ah," Lancelot said knowingly. "Eyes on Lee Parks?"

"Even when I'm sleeping," Merlin returned lightly, and the call ended on Lancelot's chuckle.

Damn. Double damn.

They couldn't just stay. He couldn't afford it, not without going back to work full-and-a-half time. Which meant leaving Arthur alone – and provoking curiosity in the management and neighborhood. If they left, he could only take Arthur home, or to Gwaine's – which endangered their families. He doubted the Sun-Star would sponsor and protect Arthur, even if he could trust the conglomerate half as much as he trusted Freya. He could see Uther making it more lucrative to turn Arthur back over to them than splashing it through every headline…

Disguises. But even that meant leaving Arthur to go out shopping, and buying things like hair dye and reading glasses might prick some interest. He'd have to, he supposed.

Shifting his weight, he turned to lean into the room to tell Arthur his plans – warn him not to let anyone in, or see him – but a figure rounding the corner from the front of the motel caught his eye, and he paused.

A female dressed in scrubs, stalking like she was in a hurry or mad, or both – it was Gwen, and she hadn't taken the time to change after her shift. She gripped the shoulder-strap of her bag like it was trying to escape, and glared at him.

He stepped back to let her pass him in entering the room, but she only glanced inside at Arthur on the bed, and stayed on the sidewalk.

"It's him, isn't it," she said, quiet and calm in her fury.

"What?" Merlin said, wanting clarity before admission.

"I was just leaving my shift," Gwen told him. "News on the tv monitors. Police sketch of a guy involved in a robbery-homicide and suspected of domestic terrorism. It's _him_. AJ, or whatever. Tell me you didn't know, that you're not –" her voice dropped to a self-conscious hiss – "aiding and abetting a violent criminal!"

"I'm not," Merlin said honestly. "And he's neither violent, nor a criminal. I mean, look at him."

Arthur was napping again, sleeping on his back with his limbs sprawled in the light from the bathroom at the back of the unit. Snoring lightly. Thin from years of regulated diet and with his hair shorn to a bristle on his head, he looked like a high-schooler.

"Listen to me," Merlin told Gwen, dodging a bit to catch her eyes back to his. "Some very crooked, very rich and powerful people had him. Used him – no, not sexually. If he wants you to know specifics, we'll tell you. Otherwise just know, they want him back. Badly enough to pay off whoever can help orchestrate this man-hunt."

Gwen held his gaze for several more minutes. He knew she trusted him; she was probably trying to decide if he could have been deceived, somehow.

Then she sighed and shook her head. "Someday this quiet-heroism thing is going to get you into serious trouble."

"Hopefully not today." He gave her a grin.

She wasn't amused. After all, though, the sun was already down, more of the day past than yet to come. "All right – how can I help?"

"No," Merlin said. "I don't want you involved."

"I already am," she said, calmly insistent and so big-sisterly he found it nearly impossible to reject. "You can't stay, but if you leave, you have to make sure he isn't caught."

"Yeah," he agreed, glad she'd missed out on the what-happens-to- _you_ question. "I thought about disguises… but if I leave to get anything, he's alone, and more vulnerable that way." He discarded the idea of asking Gwen to stay while he went out – because if the cops did show up somehow, she'd be looking at jail-time if she was lucky, and Arthur would go back to his father, Merlin was sure of it.

"Is he feeling better?" Gwen asked, looking through the doorway at Arthur again.

"I think so. He sleeps a lot and doesn't have tons of energy otherwise, but he's coughing less, so the medicine seems to be working. He loves those honey-lemon cough drops. They're almost gone."

She smiled. "They're the best."

Merlin made a noise of disagreement. "Cherry Ludens are my favorite. My mom used to carry them with her all the time. Gave me one whenever I asked."

Gwen made a face. "Those things are little more than candy."

"I know." He wiggled his eyebrows at her.

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "All right, give me half an hour, I'll be back with something to help you get through the road-block."

"I'll pay you back," he promised as she turned to leave again.

"Uh huh. I'll put it on your tab."

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Arthur understood he was sick, though he didn't _feel_ any worse than just tired. But safe, and that made a difference. It felt good to have someone take care of him who actually cared, who didn't breathe a sigh of relief and hurry out of the room when their shift was up.

But was it normal to sleep all day and be wakeful in the night?

Arthur shifted from his back to his side, careful and quiet under the sheets – which were dry, though nowhere near crisp or clean – trying to put the bathroom light behind him.

And blinked at the sight of Merlin, still fully clothed, sprawled in the room's armchair. Head tipped back to rest it – that looked uncomfortable – and mouth dropped open.

Was he worse, to keep Merlin sitting up at his bedside? He didn't feel worse.

Arthur got his elbow under him, and leaned forward. "Merlin. Merlin!"

The other came awake with a jump, and a bleary look around, before he focused on Arthur's face. "Hey, you're awake. You feel all right? Hungry? Need medicine?"

Arthur disliked those kinds of questions. He didn't know the answers; he'd rather be told it was time to eat and here's your food, or take this medicine now.

"Why are you in the chair?" he said, once again focusing on curiosity.

" 'Cause Gwen's in the bed." Merlin tossed his hand in a gesture that made Arthur dizzy to follow, turning in his bed to look at the other one.

There was someone there, black curls spread on the pillow, body curled much smaller under the cover than Merlin ever slept. He turned more slowly back to Merlin in the chair, hitching himself higher to lean against his own pillows against the scratched, stained headboard. "Why is she here?"

Merlin snorted, rubbing his eyes. "You wouldn't ask that if you had a sister. Gwaine could tell you the same. They do just what they like, without listening to us."

There was a lurch of feeling under his heart that wasn't quite curiosity – but easy enough to flip over to the one emotion Arthur allowed himself.

"She decided to be part of our disguise," Merlin continued, speaking softly as he straightened to look across Arthur at the sleeping sister in the other bed, then relaxing back in the chair. "She brought us stuff to make us look different," he explained. "When we leave here tomorrow."

Arthur nodded, understanding enough, at least. Leaving tomorrow! almost made him excited – fearful - but he squashed that down and ignored it.

"But she also brought clothes and stuff for herself. Said she already called the hospital – where she works – to take all her sick and vacation days at once, starting tomorrow."

"So she's going with us?" Arthur recognized a little pleased warmth in the same area as his reaction to Gwaine's name, and allowed it awhile; it was pleasant.

Merlin didn't feel the same; he grimaced in a way that made Arthur curious about _his_ emotions, and the balance of good and bad that he'd told Arthur about.

Arthur added, guessing, "You don't want her to go?"

"Not with us. I want her to go home." Merlin pushed his rear back in the seat and leaned over his knees, clasping and studying his fingers. "Your dad and his men, they want you back. They're going to want that a long time, and your dad – he's rich enough to pay a lot of people to help him."

Merlin glanced up at him under the fall of black hair over his brow. Arthur only nodded; yes, he knew all that.

"For you, that would mean returning to the Penned Dragon. Those little rooms, the chair – the veil and spirits. But if they catch me…"

Arthur remembered Balinor telling him, how special Merlin was. And the teleportation. "What would they do with you?" he asked.

"What it would be, it wouldn't be good," Merlin said softly. "If Uther can do this to his own son."

"But Gwen," Arthur said. "She can't _do_ anything, can she? So they wouldn't do anything to her, would they?"

"If they catch her with us, they'll have to make sure she won't tell anyone – that she _can't_ tell anyone."

Arthur didn't argue anymore. He had the vague idea that the staff of the Penned Dragon were paid not to tell, not to listen to him or help him. But they weren't like Gwen; paying her wouldn't work – and he didn't like to think beyond that.

"You could just leave me," he suggested. He had no idea what would come next for him, in that case – he'd never actually thought beyond getting outside the Penned Dragon's walls – but that seemed a solution for Merlin and Gwen. They'd helped enough, they didn't owe him.

But Merlin was shaking his head. "I won't do that. She won't do that."

His curiosity was very warm, in his chest. "Why not?"

"Because it's not what friends do." Merlin slid down in the chair. "Better try to go back to sleep – tomorrow's going to be… interesting."

Arthur scooted down – but also over. "There's room here for you," he said. "Two pillows means one for each of us."

"Really?" Merlin eyed him for a moment before pushing out of his chair with a soft groan. "Give mine over, then. I'm so tired I'm not even going to care about being prudish."

That wasn't a word Arthur recalled, immediately. Merlin flopped on the bed, causing Arthur to bounce, and snatched a pillow to scrunch up under his head. Arthur laid back down more carefully…

The next thing he knew, the 4:30 train was passing. He inched his hand out to find Merlin's shoulder; Merlin grunted and turned his head and kept sleeping.

And so did Arthur, though it seemed only moments til the bathroom light woke him, flaring through a wide-open door past Gwen's feminine shape.

"Morning, boys. Time to get ready to go, if we want to pass the road-blocks while it's still dark."

Arthur's head felt clearer this morning than it had in a long time, and he actually tasted the last slightly-stale cinnamon roll. The half-apple he chased it with was better; he glanced up as Merlin passed between him and the cop show on the tv, stuffing a crumbly stack of cheese and crackers in his mouth. He said, drawing the word out inexplicably, " _Geez_."

"What do you think of me, then?" Gwen asked.

Merlin snorted and closed the bathroom door behind him, so Arthur knew she wasn't talking to her brother, and paid attention.

She wore a purple dress of some material that wouldn't stop moving, flaring around her thighs. Buttons all down the front, and she'd missed a few at the very low collar, and at the hem. He swallowed dryly, trying to look at the rest of her – battered boots on her feet, curly hair combed into a wild cloud around her face – but couldn't seem to. Legs, and… chest.

"I'll take the silence and that look as approval," she said lightly, sounding amused.

"Maybe you shouldn't come," he managed, trying to focus his thoughts elsewhere. Not to be rude.

"You talked to Merlin," she said, tossing her head and rolling her eyes as she searched through one of their other shopping bags.

"Yeah. He's worried. If we're caught…"

The bathroom door opened and Merlin came out. He was wearing a dark gray long-sleeved shirt, skin-tight and with sleeves that came down over his thumbs. His jeans looked smudged, with paint or something, held up by a belt studded with mean-looking silver bolts, over his own boots, messily unlaced. His hair was spiked off his head, with what didn't look like water, exactly; along with the sharp-looking earring hung from the _side_ of his ear, it gave him an almost dangerous look.

Arthur felt his jaw drop.

Gwen grinned approvingly, though. And told Merlin in the no-nonsense tone Arthur was used to hearing from nurses, "I told you last night. If you're caught, they're going to investigate your family anyway, and I'm already in trouble. Makes no difference if I'm with you or not – and if I'm with you, I can help you _not_ to get caught."

It made sense to Arthur. Merlin still didn't seem happy, though. Maybe that earring hurt.

"Your turn," he said to Arthur, gesturing to the open bathroom door. Gwen offered him the shopping bag by the handles. "If you need help – or an explanation…"

"Do I have to wear one of those?" Arthur blurted, turning to Gwen and touching his own ear.

"No," she said, though her face lit up with enthusiasm. "For you I was thinking…"

"Clothes first," Merlin interrupted. "And don't bully him into something he doesn't want, Gwen."

She rolled her eyes, which Arthur was starting to realize, meant she didn't agree, but would relent. He took the bag from her and went into the bathroom.

Black jeans, dotted with ragged holes down the front. Black tennis shoes with holes also. A white t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off, and a skull stenciled on the front in leering detail. There was also an orange-yellow spray can in the bottom of the sack; he stood, shirt forgotten in his other hand while he read the label. And then again, still confused.

A knock sounded on the door – and it cracked open without him having to say anything.

"Can I come in?" Gwen said. "You've got your pants on. Good. This is more fun than Halloween." She slipped through the door, closing it behind her, and he felt hot and cold at the same time to be with her in the tiny space. "I painted Merlin's nails and made him let me do black eyeliner – he said to tell you so you would know you weren't the only one being made to look ridiculous."

"Ridiculous?" Arthur said, looking at her slinky purple dress again.

"His word, not mine. I've worked the night shift in the ER often enough to know, we won't stand out." She shrugged, and took the can from him. "Here, let me. Spray tan, since you're so pale from being stuck in that place. But first, how do you feel about shaving your head?"

Arthur reached up to touch the bristle of his hair. Though she was clearly enjoying herself – she met his eyes. She wasn't _making fun of_ ; she was _having fun with._

"Okay," he said.

She used Merlin's electric razor – which he complained about, grinning at Arthur so he'd know he wasn't really upset. Kind of like how Gwen rolled her eyes.

Then she sprayed the contents of the can over him in a fine mist.

"Just do upwards of his collar, and his arms," Merlin suggested. Their bags were already packed, except for the items Gwen was still using on Arthur, waiting at his feet as he leaned on the doorway. The black lines around his eyelashes looked odd – but definitely different.

"No, it lasts for a couple of weeks," Gwen disagreed. "Complete coverage… I'd like to do his legs, too, but…"

"Farmer's tan," Merlin said.

"Ridiculous," Arthur added – and felt a burst of warm emotion that was _not_ curiosity, when Gwen snickered and Merlin laughed outright.

He'd made a joke. He had friends.

She got out her makeup bag to brush stuff into his eyebrows to make them dark, as if he had black hair like Merlin's, only it wasn't showing on the rest of his head. Then she got out a black ink pen and made him tilt his head so she could draw on his scalp.

"Like a tattoo," she explained.

"Would it be a bit too much to do a dragon?" Merlin murmured, leaning close to watch.

It felt very odd, somewhere between a tickle and a scratch, that sharpish tip moving over his skin. He held very still, so he wouldn't be tempted to scratch, or shiver.

"This is going to be a rattlesnake," Gwen responded, intent on her work. "You know, like, _Don't tread on me_."

"Oh, that's good," Merlin approved.

Arthur didn't recognize himself in the mirror. Curious, rather than startled or dismayed. He tried a scowl, and almost jumped at the effect of the dark brows. Merlin was watching him as Gwen packed the rest of their bits and pieces, so he tested how folding his arms over his chest enhanced the scowl, turning to see the snake's forked tongue and open fangs over his left ear.

"You're not afraid, are you," Merlin said.

Arthur didn't want to answer. "Are you?"

"My hands will shake later," he said, his lips quirking. "Whatever I have to do, I'll get us through. High-speed car chase down the interstate."

"Merlin!" Gwen said, like a warning.

"Just remember, they're looking for someone acting awkward and shy and guilty," Merlin told him. "We can be obnoxious and juvenile – and overlooked."

He handed Arthur something, and bent for the bags. With the bathroom light off, Arthur had to follow him to the open door of the room and the parking lot lights – necessary, as dawn didn't look even close - to see it. At the top of the small stiff card, red-block letters in all capitals. Driver's license.

The picture wasn't him. The face was wider, the smile approaching stupid, hair covering ears and eyebrows, both. James A. Meyner, and an address.

"My middle name is James," he said, joining Merlin at the truck, as the other slung their bags – duffel stuffed full and another plastic bag of laundry – into the back.

"I know," Merlin said, flashing a smile as he opened the truck door. "So, James – how do you feel about driving?"


	8. Roadblock and Farmhouse

**Chapter 8: Roadblock and Farmhouse**

Steering wasn't too hard, and Merlin did all the rest from his slump in the passenger seat.

When he said, _I can do things_ , he wasn't kidding.

Arthur tried to relax, steering them from the gas station a mile away – Merlin said – from the police checkpoint. But Gwen, sitting in the middle of the seat between them, with the console folded up behind her, was stiff; she didn't like him at the wheel, in spite of Merlin's promises of safety.

"They won't be expecting that, with whatever Uther's told them about Arthur," Merlin tried to reassure her. "Whatever happens, we'll get away – and I won't let us crash."

Arthur had no trouble believing it, but then again, maybe Merlin had never teleported his sister anywhere.

Red and blue revolving lights were visible in the distance when Gwen suddenly said, "Arthur _Flite_." She rounded on Merlin – Arthur caught the movement from the corner of his eye – and added indignantly, "You said you were investigating Uther's son Arthur, who might've died or disappeared or something. You lied to me!"

"Yes, I did," Merlin said, unrepentant. "For your own good. Now get ready to smile and flirt."

Arthur felt the shift of the pedals beneath his feet, though he wasn't controlling them, and they slowed to an idle behind a row of cars lit by headlights and taillights. And the feeling in the pit of his stomach wasn't curiosity.

"Where'd you find him?" Gwen said to Merlin.

Arthur shifted uncomfortably. If she stayed angry at one or both of them…

"You can tell her," he said to Merlin.

For a moment his friend said nothing. The truck rolled forward to keep a short distance between them and the car in front of them; Arthur didn't need to touch the wheel to keep the vehicle within painted lines. Then Merlin said, "Gwen, I'd like you to meet Arthur. The Penned Dragon."

"What," she said crossly, not looking at Arthur.

"He's a natural psychic. Contact with the spirits of the dead. His father built the Penned Dragon around him, and hired some quack of a doctor-"

"Dr. Morgause," Arthur interjected quietly. He didn't like her – and he didn't think any of the others, nurses and technicians, liked her either.

"To refine and enhance and maximize his skill. And then he commercialized it. Marketed it, and sold his son's time and talent, keeping him strapped in a chair in the daytime and sedated at night."

They rolled forward another car length; now there were two vehicles between them and the patrolmen knocking on windows and shining flashlights into interiors.

"He was in first grade when Uther began," Merlin said. "My father introduced us during one of my sessions-"

"Is that what landed you in the ER?" Gwen asked quietly, sounding calmed by the explanation.

"Sort of. Long story."

"I'm sorry," Arthur said, glancing over at Merlin, who shrugged.

"That's no way for anyone to live. But I had no proof, and collecting evidence would be time-consuming and dangerous and uncertain," Merlin finished.

Arthur rolled down his window and stuck his elbow out as they moved again toward the raised hand of one flashlight-wielding cop.

"So – your basic smash and grab," Merlin drawled.

Gwen elbowed him. Arthur's sideways glance caught a flash of gold from his eyes, and the truck shifted into park.

Arthur slouched over his arm spread along the open window. _Just – mimic the folks you've seen in those rooms._

"What?" he said to the patrolman who shone his light in Arthur's face, then Gwen's. A tremor traveled his spine, in the presence of the third stranger he'd met, outside the facility – and this one, _not_ a friendly one. Trying to catch him, even though he didn't know him…

"Driver's license," the man said. Then ducked to point his light at Merlin. "Both of you boys."

Merlin shifted to dig in his back pocket for his wallet. But Arthur didn't have a wallet, only the bare card in his pocket. So he leaned forward to slide his hand over the dashboard, then stuck his fingers into a catch-all cubby.

"Babe, where's my license," he said. "I just had it out – we were buying that beer-"

Gwen wriggled right up next to him, warm and soft, leaning on his arm. "Check your pockets, babe," she suggested.

Arthur hitched his hips off the seat to slap at his rear – then pulled out his card. "Here it is!"

The cop grimaced in annoyance, taking the two cards from him to study. "This is you?" he said disbelievingly. "James A. Meyner?"

"Jimmy," Gwen said, still leaning.

"You can't recognize me with all that hair," Arthur told him. "You know you've got to wash that stuff, like, _all_ the time?"

The man didn't say anything, just passed his light from the card, to Arthur's face, and back again.

"People say he's lost weight," Gwen said, sounding bored and helpful at once.

"Yeah," Arthur said. "I remember – that picture was taken when I was trying to quit smoking. Ate candy instead – blew up like a balloon." Beside him, Gwen giggled convincingly, and he found it encouraging. It wasn't hard to work up a realistic cough, either, after being sick. "Where's my smokes, babe? Around here somewhere…"

Gwen pretended to search, down below the seat by their feet.

"Where are you heading?" the cop questioned.

"Are we out late, or up early?" Arthur asked the interior of the cab indiscriminately.

"Both," Gwen answered, still rummaging under the seat.

Merlin snorted. "Neither."

Another cop tapped on the passenger window – it was a female, with a knob of brown hair on her nape. Merlin rolled the window down.

"Hi," he said, sounding eager and interested.

"Is it him?" the cop beside Arthur asked, bending to look at her through the cap of their pickup.

"Thin and light-skinned and shy?" she answered doubtfully. "About the right age. All but the hair."

"Wig or dye?" the cop by Arthur asked.

The lady officer leaned closer to Merlin to sniff his hair. "Doesn't smell like dye."

"Hey," Merlin said, slyly flirtatious, "If you like smelling my hair, I'll let you sniff my-"

"Merlin!" Gwen barked, and Arthur almost choked on a snicker.

The lady cop retaliated by taking a handful of Merlin's stiffly-pointed hair and tugging.

"Ow!" turned into, "Oh, I like that!"

"It's his real hair," she informed the patrolman by Arthur's elbow, rolling her eyes and wiping her hand rather ostentatiously on her uniform.

"All right." The cop turned his flashlight into the back – briefly, as it was mostly empty – then handed the licenses back to Arthur. "Go ahead and pass through." He withdrew to nod at the signaler, who waved them forward.

Arthur slapped at the lever he'd been told was the gear shift, but Merlin moved it – and accelerated as they pulled forward, leaving the road-block behind.

"Oh my _gosh_!" Gwen said, sounding both nervous and amused. "You two are so bad!"

"You mean so good," Merlin corrected, and Arthur could hear the wide mischievous grin in his voice.

" _Babe_ ," Gwen drawled. "You can sniff my- what, Merlin? What were you going to say?"

"Can't tell you," he said cheerfully. "My mother doesn't let me say those words. And anyway, Arthur has virgin ears."

Arthur realized the release of strain, and the giddiness of relief. He said, "No, I don't," and they laughed, but really he was serious. No one had said anything new in those rooms for a while.

"We'll find a place here to pull over," Merlin said, shaking out his arms like he could dispel tension that way. "I'll drive the rest of the way to the farm."

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …*….. …..*…..

Backseat driving – or even passenger-seat driving – was for the birds, Merlin decided. And it was different than the teleportation exercise; at first he hadn't risked anyone but himself, and then when he'd taken Gwaine, he'd known what he was doing, more or less.

Absolutely unnerving to drive a pickup truck with nothing but abnormal brain impulses, and have two other lives in his hands. So to speak.

He didn't feel the expansive challenge as he had in Gwaine's house, the runner's-high of magic. He felt shaky and drained, and as the excitement of successful escape drained away into the reality of what-now for the other two, he made no attempt to revive the mood. They drove the rest of the two hours to the country in relative silence, Arthur asking occasional questions and Gwen answering.

"What's that smell?"

"Dairy farm. See right there? The black and white cows."

"They're so dirty for… dairy."

Merlin kept checking his rearview, but there was only ever the slower vehicles he chose to pass, gradually receding.

In the town where Gaius lived, the main road went straight through, with only one stoplight on the corner by the local grocery – two rival gas stations keeping each other's prices down, a movie theater, a café, and a church. Otherwise it was people's houses; the residential seeping in among the commercial – or vice versa, it might be – quite comfortably.

He made one turn, north off the main road by the movie theater – one screen, everybody watching the same thing twice a night – and passed two blocks of houses before the pavement ground away to gravel beneath the tires. Cornfield on the right, hay meadow on the left.

Then Gaius' property, as he could see the white two-story with black shutters toward the top of a long sloping hill. There was a cousin's son, Merlin understood, with the machinery to cut and bale, the connections to transport and sell, for a certain percent of the profits. Nice tidy income without much effort on Gaius' part, and in the meantime, it looked peaceful and smelled like the sweet essence of the country.

Circular gravel driveway, carrying them past the large shed where the two tinker-clunker antique vehicles were kept, past the larger barn, to the back garage. Between the barn and garage was a little path to the vegetable garden and the short rows of fruit trees Gaius had called his orchard.

Merlin braked to a stop, and turned off the engine. "We're here," he said unnecessarily.

"It's so quiet," Gwen said. "Listen – you can't hear traffic at all."

"There's another farm at the end of the road," Merlin told her, "but that's it. It doesn't go through to anywhere else – so no one passes here, but them."

Arthur was turned to the window, so Merlin couldn't see his face. He hesitated a moment; that had been an incredible performance at the roadblock, but up til now, he rather thought what they'd seen in him was the _absence_ of Arthur's personality. Shock and illness and the anxiety of finally winning free – as well as the abuse of his childhood – made him quiet and uncertain. A blank canvas, acquiescence and submission learned when he was very young.

And now… what might emerge? What if…

Merlin gave himself a shake, looking past Arthur's scalp and snake-tattoo, out the window to Gaius' stout figure among the fruit trees. He was doubly retired – cop and then P.I. If he couldn't handle anything that erupted from Arthur's damaged-then-freed psyche, probably no one could.

"Come on," he said, reaching for his door handle. "Let's go say hi."

Gwen was turned toward Arthur as well, and made no move to follow him, so he closed the driver's door with a slam that caught Gaius' attention. As Merlin rounded the truck, Arthur leaned against the side of it just behind the open passenger door, and Gwen slid down from the seat beside him.

They stayed by the truck – or, Arthur stayed by the truck and Gwen stayed by him – and Merlin strode past the vegetable garden to meet his old mentor, who leaned a long pole with a sort of wire basket on one end against one of the trees to hurry toward him.

Denim overalls and an open flannel, and battered work-boots. Smudged green ballcap, and his white ponytail down his collar. Stern rather than smiling – and Merlin bent unhesitatingly for the old man's embrace.

"Ah, Merlin!" Gaius said. "It's been too long, my boy. Which means you've been working too hard."

"You said there was no such thing when you're fighting the good fight," Merlin protested, as Gaius released him.

The old man grunted, raising an eyebrow and taking his costume in more thoroughly. "What's all this, then?" he said. "Undercover work?"

"Something like that," Merlin answered. "Come meet my friend."

"Your sister came too." Gaius made the observation into a question.

"I couldn't stop her," Merlin explained honestly.

"Are they undercover also?" Gaius asked, his voice half-critical and half-amused over Gwen and Arthur's attire.

"Sort of," Merlin hedged.

They were close enough now that Gwen pushed away from the truck and stepped forward, hand outstretched. "Gaius – it's good to see you again! You have such a lovely farm – thank you for having me to stay also, especially since it was such short notice."

"Not at all," Gaius said sincerely, pressing Gwen's hand between both of his. "There are five bedrooms in this old place – it'll be good to have more of them in use. I can stand some company."

"Good," Merlin said, taking a deep breath.

Moment of truth. At best, Gaius could smack him upside the head and call him an idiot – and grudgingly agree to more minimal or temporary aid than Merlin hoped. At worst he'd throw them off his property and never speak to Merlin again. And then, he'd have to put Gwen on a bus back to the city, and empty his bank account and drive with Arthur to the end of the highway…

"Gaius," he said. The old man was already scrutinizing his apprehensive friend, keen eyes trained for detail and extrapolating significance. "This is Arthur-"

The old P.I. reached out and gripped his arm, just above the elbow. _Hard_. Hard enough to halt his introduction, and then he turned Merlin and took him a few steps off to say, with their backs to the other two,

"Do you know who that _is_."

"I do," Merlin said, honestly and seriously – and a little impressed that his old mentor had seen through what had fooled the roadblock police. Then again, in the full strong light of morning and alerted to the need of disguise… "But you _don't_."

"It was on the news," Gaius began in stern protest. "They said he was-"

"Uther Flite's son," Merlin cut him off. "Arthur Flite, of the Penned Dragon. He's a psychic medium."

Gaius' wrinkled lips pressed together. His fingers loosened on Merlin's arm and he turned to look again at Arthur – whose demeanor was far more shy and uncertain than the tough-guy clothes and shaven, tattooed scalp proclaimed.

"That place has been in business almost twenty years," Gaius said.

"His father used crystals and other equipment to enhance his gift," Merlin told him quietly. "It wasn't voluntary. I helped him break free."

A sigh deflated the set of Gaius' shoulders. "And Uther is using the law to his own ends – recovery of the missing cog he won't claim as his son?"

"Exactly."

Merlin watched Gaius _think_ ; then the old man retraced his steps. "Beg pardon for my reaction, young man," he said. "Suspicion dies hard in an old lawman, and I'm afraid my young friend here can be impetuous. But you are welcome in my home, too, Arthur Flite."

"Thanks," Arthur said, allowing his hand to be shaken, and looking a little wide-eyed at Merlin over the old man's shoulder. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Gaius."

"Just Gaius," the old man said. "Why don't you all come in. I feel like I could use a second cup of coffee."

They entered through the garage – "You can pull the truck in later, Merlin," – and the back door opened to a little mudroom. One half-stair went down to the basement, where the silvery shapes of a massive heater were in view; another led up to the kitchen.

As Gaius toed off his boots and hung his ballcap on a hook, Merlin removed his boots also, following upstairs with Gwen and Arthur trailing him.

Wood floors that matched the cabinets, window over the sink. Rugs under the round table in the corner, and padding the walk- and work-space, else. Gaius took down four mugs that showed a black-and-white stencil of flying geese, then set about making a fresh pot of coffee. Merlin hitched himself up on the counter across the sink from Gaius, who cocked an eyebrow, but said nothing.

"I could use an eye-opener," Gwen moaned, sinking into one of the chairs at the table. Arthur leaned uncertainly in a doorway that led to a hall - three closed doors, and daylight that promised more general living-space.

"How did you get involved in all this, my dear?" Gaius asked her.

She leaned her elbows on the table. "I volunteered," she said, and gave him the gist of the story – Arthur got sick, she came to help; she came back to make sure Merlin wasn't involved in anything criminal without knowing.

"Anything too criminal," Merlin corrected with a grin. He didn't miss how Gaius was keeping an eye on Arthur, if his uneasiness was anything to go by.

"So this name-checking and ghost-calling," Gaius said suddenly. "How does that work?"

The coffee-maker hissed and sighed and dribbled, and Merlin found himself relaxing in the aroma and the quiet. Safe at last, even if there was tension Arthur and Gaius had yet to release.

"Um," Arthur gulped, eyes skittering to Merlin, then Gwen. Then he took a deep breath and closed them. "At the facility, among the crystals, the veil was right there." His hand rose, like grasping a window-drape. "I could just, pull it aside for whichever name I was supposed to call, and they came."

"What about out here?" Gaius continued.

Arthur didn't open his eyes, as if he felt more comfortable discussing this without them watching him. He was making good, coherent, adult sense, though, even if his confidence level was lacking – as Balinor had said. "The veil is still there, but it's… across the room, I can't touch it. All the voices are whispers… I don't know. I've never tried calling anyone out, or sending them back, away from the crystals. Except my mother."

"She died when he was young," Merlin said to Gaius, slouching over his knees and kicking his heels lightly against the drawers of the cabinets beneath him. "Evidently Uther wanted her to remain part of their family. He wanted that a little too much."

Gaius and Gwen looked back at Arthur, who shifted his weight and opened his eyes, dropping his gaze immediately to the floor. "Bring her back, he said. But she told me, no one can heal and move on, if they don't let go."

"That," Gaius said, turning to pour steaming fragrant liquid into the mugs, "is very good advice. Are they coming after you, Merlin?"

"They don't know it was me," Merlin said. So far, anyway. "Thus the roadblock. And they weren't keeping records of the people passing through, so we should be in the clear."

"Good," Gaius said, puttering to distribute milk and sugar, and gingersnaps from a fat brown jar behind Merlin. "So now that you're safely beyond the confines of the city, what are your plans?"

Silence. Gwen looked at Merlin, who grimaced awkwardly to be asked to put word to thought in front of Arthur. Who looked at each of them blankly; as loathe as he was to make even the smallest choices, what to do with his life was probably beyond him at the moment.

"I would like a chance to change my clothes," Gwen said, sweetly diplomatic. "And then maybe stretch my legs after the drive, taking a walk around your farm. Have you gotten a lot of produce from your garden yet this year, Gaius?"

"I've taken an onion or two," he said, allowing the change of subject. "The first planting of carrots. Couple of cucumbers, couple of melons. The first of the sweet corn should be ready next week. The farmers' market uptown is usually well worth my while, setting up a couple folding tables. Twice a week, Tuesdays and Saturdays through the fall. I'll show you the apple trees, though – just started picking there yesterday."

By the time the coffee mugs were empty and the gingersnap crumbs brushed away, Gwen had set small and immediate goals for all of them to change and wash as necessary, using the big bathroom on the main level – the third door down the hall – and had started a load of laundry they'd brought from days at the hotel, in the basement. Merlin texted Gwaine and then Freya, letting them know he'd gotten out of the city safely – not in so many words, but his two friends would understand – and both had responded within minutes. Essentially, congratulations and keep us updated.

Merlin rather hoped he wouldn't have occasion to introduce the two, anytime soon.

Once outside under the half-dozen trees of the orchard, Arthur and Gwen wielded the apple-picker clumsily and with shared amusement, beginning to add to the battered bushels scattered about in a desultory way. Gaius nudged Merlin aside.

"What have you gotten yourself into, here?" the old man demanded. "He's not anywhere close to being able to take care of himself, is he? How much time will you put into that before he is, or will you give up trying at some point?"

After a moment, Merlin said slowly, "The work I do… the work we did. Discovering who's cheating on who in a loveless marriage, and providing proof for a nasty hurtful case in divorce court. Tracking down a missing person – if at all possible – to find a shallow grave in a state forest, or that someone just walked out on their friends and family and whole life, for whatever reason. Discrediting or supporting witnesses, checking employee backgrounds for suspicious financial institutions, running school-staff fingerprints against the national sex offender lists. It's… quite sordid, sometimes. Negative. Arthur was someone I could do something positive for – and it had to be me. I only discovered him through an aberration or fluctuation of crystals or frequency, or… something."

Gaius humphed, watching Arthur almost trip over a half-full basket; Gwen reached to catch his arm, laughing. "Did that have anything to do with your heart attack?"

Merlin ignored the question. "In some ancient cultures, when you save someone's life, you have a lifelong responsibility to that person – and I'm okay with that. I'm not just going to… abandon him along the highway like a stray dog if he gets too big, or whatever."

Eyes still on Arthur, Gaius reached out to grasp Merlin's shoulder.

"Having said that…" Merlin made no attempt to hide his grin; Gaius heard him and gave him a look. "Can he stay here for a while? It's safer than the city, and probably better for him in every other way, too. Mentally, physically…"

"Are we talking weeks? Months, years?"

"As long as he needs to?" Merlin suggested. "His education is obviously and understandably lacking, but there's no reason to think him incapable of self-sufficiency. Just, given time, and…"

"And what?" Gaius said suspiciously.

"I don't know…" Merlin ventured the word he was thinking with another pleading grin. "Nurturing?"

" _Nurturing_?" Gaius exclaimed. "You think a rough old bachelor like me has any inclination to nursemaid a child in a man's body?"

"You did it for me," Merlin said slyly. "And anyway, it wouldn't be much different from raising your animals or tending your garden or orchard, right? Like a project. Tutoring."

"Tutoring!" Gaius snorted.

"I'll pay you rent for him," Merlin proposed suddenly.

"He can earn his own keep," Gaius retorted. "There's plenty work around here for two." Merlin grinned at him – then ducked the old man's half-hearted swing at the back of his head. "When are you going back, then?" Gaius asked.

"Gwen's got three more days of leave – but then she's out for the year," Merlin said. His stepsister had one foot in the crook of a tree branch and the other braced in Arthur's hands like a stirrup, as she reached for a conspicuously red apple. "I've got a line on Lee Parks-"

"Three-point-seven-five million," Gaius said, as Gwaine had, immediately understanding. "How much are they giving you of that?"

"Half a percent," Merlin said. "But I doubt he tips his hand soon, he's too smart for that."

"You never know," Gaius mused. "Speaking of smart. Merlin. Uther Flite can only continue this sort of search for a short time – it costs, and he's just lost a major source of revenue."

The old man pointed to Arthur, who was standing in a patch of sunlight with his face upturned and his eyes closed. A whimsical, boyish smile on his face.

"He may cut his losses and seek out other ventures. Let Arthur go, as long as no rival facility emerges to begin earning on Arthur's abilities. Or, he may enlist the aid of a partner – promise half the income from the Penned Dragon for the next however many years, in exchange for the partner locating and recovering Arthur as the one essential to success."

"I don't believe there's anything tying me to Arthur's escape, that they can find," Merlin said. "No one saw him at the motel, no one can trace Gwaine's system-hack." He ignored the old man's scoffing noise; Gaius never had much respect for his unconventional friend. "I've got alibis up to here, and innocence in spades."

"And a smart-aleck wit and a too-fast tongue," Gaius added, pretending to be grumpy.

"Thank you, Gaius," Merlin said – grinning, but essentially serious.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Arthur knew he should have been asleep. Everyone else was; he could even hear Gaius snoring in his main-floor master bedroom. He should have been exhausted, but though the windows showed pitch black, he was wakeful.

He'd been given the basement bedroom. From the back door, down the stairs. On one side, the furnace room, and a bathroom-laundry combination. On the other side, a sort of sitting room – couch and deep-seated rocking chair, a tv on a table under the exposed angles of the stairs going up to the kitchen. Through the sitting room to the bedroom – cool painted concrete walls, extra blankets piled on the bed. Smelled like mothballs and faintly like mold, but that wasn't why Arthur couldn't sleep, and instead chose to sit on the couch with the tv on.

Black and white re-run. A man and a very little boy going down a dirt road – the boy stopping to pick up stones, scurrying to catch up with the man, both of them carrying fishing poles in their hands. A tackle box complicated the man's hold on his rod, but he kept one hand free to tousle the boy's curls, every time he caught up.

Arthur fingered the material of the white cotton scrubs – laundered and advised as good for pajamas by Gwen, and they had been. All-day clothes, too; jeans felt stiff and rough in comparison.

He watched the little boy look up at the father who ruffled his hair and smiled, and thought of his own father. Who never had taken him fishing. Who wanted him back, and maybe worried about what condition he might be in, lost from the facility…

But it was the money he cared about, not the son. The money, and maybe the prestige, and surely the power.

Arthur felt a bit like the little boy. But there was no father to look up to. No Dr. Morgause and troop of nurses to obey. For a couple of days, he realized, he'd looked up to Merlin. Who'd rescued him and brought him to a place to stay – given him food and clothes and called his sister for help when Arthur was sick, and conspired to thwart the enemies he'd made for Arthur's sake.

But he wasn't staying. Arthur hadn't anticipated that possibility at all – he felt faintly impatient with himself that he hadn't. Merlin had a job, and an apartment, and a family. Arthur couldn't stay in the city; Merlin had to go back.

There would be phone calls, he'd been assured. Every day, even. Letters, if he wanted to practice his writing. He knew about school, and knew he'd missed most of it, so he should probably make up for lost time and education. He had the idea that this was temporary, that he wasn't meant to live and grow old and die on this farm; that Merlin would wait for… something. For him. Though maybe he was wrong about that, he didn't know.

There might be someone he could ask, though. The idea struck him like the sun and wind on his skin, and he closed his eyes, visualizing his sensation of an invisible barrier as an ephemeral but opaque veil.

 _Balinor_ , he called. And then again, more insistently, _Balinor_ …

The veil, which was never still, rippled with purpose. A figure appeared – pushed forward – manifested slightly corporeal.

Arthur opened his eyes to smile at the ghost of Merlin's father.

Who looked around with commendable curiosity. "Arthur! You faded. I hoped that meant that you… Where are we?"

He flickered, and Arthur firmed his intent to hold him there. "Merlin's friend's farmhouse. He teleported me out of the facility and Gwen gave me medicine and disguised me and Merlin showed me how to steer the truck past the roadblock and now we're safe."

"You're safely away, then?" Balinor said, flickering again. "S'pose that accounts for… difference in connection… tell Merlin I'm proud… give my love… be careful."

Arthur had been concentrating so fully on holding the connection with Balinor – like a stretched rubber band that wanted to spring back; it felt so different from the way things worked in the facility – he hadn't noticed any footsteps on the stair.

But when Gwen gasped, "Oh my goodness!" he lost his grip and Balinor flickered out – his last look one of surprise to see her, too – pulled precipitously back into the veil.

She was standing on the bottom step, dressed in her own set of scrubs – lavender, he remembered, though he couldn't see the color in the shifting black-and-white of the tv set. Her dark hair was bound, he thought, braided somehow to tame the curls on her pillow, and it was a pity.

"That -" she said to him faintly. "That was-"

"Merlin's dad," he affirmed, nodding. She stumbled down the last step and sank to sitting at the other end of the couch, still staring at the spot where the ghost had appeared. "I used to talk to him," he offered shyly. "He noticed me. None of them do, but he did. He told me about Merlin…"

He remembered again that Merlin wasn't staying. That he'd walk out the door and go back to his own life, just as he'd left the Penned Dragon – and Arthur was left hoping and waiting, but not knowing.

Was that the good and bad of life? Merlin leaving sucked, but Arthur wasn't to give up on him.

"Is he a lot like his son?" Gwen asked, still sounding shocked.

"I don't know, yet," Arthur murmured, and she nodded like she understood he was still getting to know Merlin.

"I came to see how you were feeling," she said then, gulping a little and dragging her eyes away from the empty air, as if she thought Balinor might return at any moment. "Are you all right?"

He said honestly, without thinking of the awkwardness of self-evaluation, "My throat hurts."

"Mm." She dug in her pocket and handed him a twist of white paper – one of the leftover honey-lemon cough drops.

He opened it and put it in his mouth to suck on, and it seemed to help. She pulled her feet up behind her, turned partially to face him, and the curve of her cheek and the reflection of light in her dark eyes made Arthur feel shy against his will.

"Merlin said, you napped during the day but sometimes couldn't sleep at night," she said. "I wanted you to know, that's completely normal. Your level of activity has gone up in every way, so you'll probably be tired in the daytime for a few days – probably more like a few weeks, til you adjust. But, one of the side effects of coming off long-term use of a sleeping aid like what they probably fed you, is occasional insomnia. We can talk tomorrow about a handful of techniques that can help reduce that, I just didn't want you to worry about it."

"I thought you were leaving," Arthur said.

"Not for a few days." She smiled, and the shy feeling twined with curiosity somewhere between his heart and stomach. "Is that why you were talking to Merlin's dad?"

She didn't ask the question like she expected an answer, so he didn't say anything, only looked down at the rug as she studied him a moment more.

"Come here," she said suddenly, beckoning to him with her fingertips. He frowned. "Curl up, and put your head here, in my lap."

She must mean it, he reasoned. So he obeyed, a bit nervously, tucking his feet up against the arm of the couch and resting tentatively against her thigh, facing the tv. She was soft and warm and fragrant; he thought his head must be very heavy.

Her fingertips, stroked along his arm, raised goosebumps though he wasn't cold, and he folded his arms into his chest. And when her fingers brushed gently over his head – rasp of one-day-old stubble but still mostly sensitive skin – he closed his eyes. This brought back vague recollections of his mother, and woke a yearning in his heart for that sort of secure love to be his again.

"You know your mother didn't want to leave you," she said softly. He kept his eyes closed and listened; she had a nice voice, low and smooth. "I'm sorry that your father's grief… changed him. I'm sorry he wasn't there for you, like my father was for me when my mother died. I'm sorry he didn't take care of you."

Backs of her knuckles oh-so-lightly over his forehead, over his cheekbones. It was soothing.

"I'm not going to promise it'll all be okay, because you know that no one knows that, and no one can guarantee anything for the future. There are people who will deceive you, and go back on promises, and leave you when you love them and can't stop them. But there are also those who-"

"Don't give up," Arthur said.

"Yes." He felt her lean over him, curling one arm around his shoulder and the other around his head. "Merlin is your first friend in a very long time, and maybe that frightens you a little…"

It didn't; he wouldn't let it. He was only curious to see what might develop – or not.

"Maybe it frightens you because you think you don't have anyone else, and he's got so many other friends. But that's not true - Merlin might be one of the friendliest people I know, but he's hurting and a little empty right now, too, because his friend Will died. So he might very well be a little nervous about making you his friend and taking that risk again, but Arthur. He's doing it. Like you said, he's not giving up. Merlin doesn't go back on his word – maybe he's like his father that way, you might know better than I. And Gaius – I know he's old and likes to pretend he can't help being grouchy, but he'd be a good friend for you, too. Merlin says you're curious – so hang on to that, and you'll get through. Periods of adjustment are always a bit rocky and uncertain."

 _Don't give up_ , Arthur thought sleepily. "You're my friend, too," he said aloud.

"Of course. Merlin gave you the house phone number as well as his cell, and the address. So you can get a hold of me whenever you like."

Arthur hummed, beginning to feel the exhaustion. "I have a hold of you now."

She snorted a giggle, and shifted in a way that encouraged him upward. "Yes, and it's time now you went to your bed, and me back to mine. Come on, now."

He stumbled into the bedroom and flopped on the open bed, obeying her prodding to move his feet between the sheets. She folded the blanket over him, and then a second against the chill of the room.

" 'Night, Gwen," he mumbled into the pillow. "Thanks."

"Anytime."

"For being you," he wanted to clarify.

"Oh, that?" There was humor in her voice. "All the time. 'Night, Arthur." She kissed his temple, and then she was gone.

And he was asleep.

 **A/N: Not even close to being done, people. I want a chapter or two of intermission, before we rev it up to the conclusion…**


	9. Corresponding

**Chapter 9: Corresponding**

(City to Farmhouse, Sept. 15)

 _Dear AJ – just in case a letter ever goes awry,_

 _I hope it's all right that we've sent you this box of clothes. We only went to the secondhand place – that'll get you variety without being expensive – so if there's anything that doesn't fit, or that you don't like, have Gaius pass it on to a neighbor's garage sale or something. They didn't have winter stuff out yet, coats and hats and scarves and gloves and so on, but when they do we'll send some. Unless you feel like going shopping with Gaius to get your own. Just let me know._

 _Also, they were out of flip-flops, since summer's over. Hip waders would be the fishing/hunting shop, and likewise combat boots would be military surplus. But we've sent a pair of workboots like Gaius', for the barn and garden. How do you like the animals?_

 _Maybe it's odd. Maybe you'll laugh, but after only a couple of days, I got used to you being around. Now I don't have anyone to talk to, driving around or doing research for my job. Ask my sister, she'll tell you I love to talk, so this has been a hardship. It makes me miss working with Gaius._

 _(You can't hear sarcasm in a letter, so I'll tell you straight up. That was a joke, and I meant to imply that I miss you, too.)_

 _So what are you up to these days? Working hard or hardly working? (That's a common joke, too.)_

 _Gwen says, is the cough gone? And how is the insomnia? She wrote a list of things you can try without having to take anything, anymore. Exercise and sunlight and watching what you eat or drink in the afternoon and evening. Pretty easy stuff, I read it through. Hope some of it works for you – I'm sure this transition is tough enough, without having to do it on not enough sleep._

 _See you around,_

 _Merlin_

* * *

(Farmhouse to City, Sept. 22)

 _Dear Merlin,_

 _AJ is fine. I nevur had a nickname._

 _Thanks for the close. I gess enee culer but wite is fine. The belt is gud, Gaius sez I wil gro into the jeens as I gane wate. The butes fit. Gaius duznt like durt trakt in the hows, becuz sum of it is animul shit. He sez I can use mi uthur shuse to go runing. He sez that wil help me git helthee, and that wil be exercise like Gwen sed._

 _The animuls ar oll helthee to, Gaius sez. He sez I wil work hard wen Im strong, but Im helpful evuree day._

 _See you around,_

 _AJ_

 _PS. Gaius sez I speld things rong, but yu wont mind. He sez, as long as I speld his name rite – I had to ask him, thoe._

 _PS. Can I rite to Gwane to say thanks._

…..*…..

 _Dear Gwen,_

 _Gaius told me how to spel yor name. Its a pritee name._

 _Merlin sez duz he like to tok a lot? I don't think he tokt to much. I like to lisen to him. I like the way he toks to me. And yu, to. I mis yu._

 _My cough is beter. I chekt Merlin's letur for how to spel that. I stil wake up at nite but I wil try sum uv the things yu sed. Thank yu._

 _Soree I speld things rong, but I wil praktis with Gaius and lurn to do beter._

 _See you around,_

 _AJ_

* * *

(City to Farmhouse, Sept. 29)

 _Dear AJ,_

 _Glad to hear you're sleeping better. Running probably helps with that, don't you think? Probably gives you a good appetite, too. I should probably run for exercise, but there's no good place in the city but the park, and_ everyone _runs there. Sometimes even at two o'clock in the morning – I know, I've seen it._

 _You and Gaius probably saw it on the news, but the manhunt is officially over. They claimed they caught – well, you, down south somewhere. Freya – my girl in the news media – says there's talk about why the Penned Dragon closed, but no one really buys Uther's statement about the structural integrity of the building, and Dr. Morgause's nonsense about the crystal's energies and the loss of natural resonances. The prevailing opinion seems to be that it might have been a hoax all along, and the public scrutiny scared Uther off, to so speak._

 _Gaius, it occurred to me that this public doubt will make it hard for Uther to initiate other commercial concerns, rather than pursue Arthur to prove himself somehow. Gwaine and I don't believe we've gathered any suspicion, but it's worth it to be careful, anyway._

 _How's the apple harvest coming? Save us a few, and Gwen will make a pie that will knock your socks off when we come again. Maybe next year, though, because she doesn't have any more days off._

 _See you around,_

 _Merlin_

 _PS. If you want to write to Gwaine, best just send the letter to me and I'll deliver it. I can't imagine they'd have the resources to watch the mail, much less investigate anomalies like new correspondents, but still. Better safe, and all that._

… _..*….._

 _Dear AJ,_

 _Thank you so much for writing me that letter, it was the best and sweetest one I've ever gotten, and I mean that. You write amazingly well for - well, for someone who's been through what you've been through. I admire your determination to keep learning and improving, so I'm sending you a couple of books I think you'll like, to help with that. Robin Hood, Tom Sawyer, and The Wind in the Willows._

 _And as long as you want to, we can keep writing letters, though of course you can call on the phone, too._

 _Yes, Merlin is a chatterbox, but I like to listen to him, too. He's so cheerful and optimistic all the time (optimistic means you always try to see the best in people and situations), it cheers me up. And sometimes he says exactly what I need to hear, maybe one sentence or phrase that I can use to remind myself, later on._

 _I'm glad your cough is better, I'm sure the country air is good for you. Merlin says he's ninety percent sure you're safe and going to stay that way. Have you been getting to be better friends with Gaius? I miss you, too._

 _Your friend,_

 _Gwen_

* * *

(Farmhouse to City, Oct. 6)

 _Dear Merlin,_

 _I am up to a mile at a time, runing. 2 times evry day. Beefor Im out of breth and hav to stop and walk. But not at 2:00 in the morning. You shud be aslepe._

 _We saw on the noos that the pulees arnt looking for me enemor. Gaius says we cant get complacent. He told me how to spell that, and wut it meens. Hes teeching me the prinsiples of investigation and evasion. He told me how to spell thoze, to. He sez its allmost the same as wut he tot you._

 _I didnt know you had a girlfrend. I bet shes pretty. If shes in the noos, duz that meen shes a chatterbox to? Gwen sed you wur a chatterbox wen I asked if you liked to talk._

 _The apples are haf down. Gaius says I save his back, careying baskets. We put them in the truck and take them to the farmers market with the vechtubuls. Vegetables. Gaius gits impashint wen I ask for spelling to much. Tho he says its ok. We are still lurning eech uthur._

 _But you can kum without Gwen sumtime, and bring her sum apples home to make a pie._

 _See you around,_

 _AJ_

 _PS. Gaius says he will call you with an ideuh ubout yur bank robber._

…..*…..

 _Dear Gwaine,_

 _Merlin sed I cud rite you. He sed you helped him git me out of my fathers facility. Gaius told me how to spell that. He sed he knows you to, but the way he sed it, I dont think he likes you vary much. I dont meen to be rude. You must be a grate gie if Merlin likes you. And I owe you one for helping save me. Merlin says you praktised teleportation. Wuznt it fun? Maybe sumtime I can meet you and shake yur hand to say thanks._

 _AJ_

…..*…..

 _Dear Gwen,_

 _Thanks for the books. I red the first chapter of them all. Thay use hard words in Robin Hood, but I like Wind in the Willows a lot. I like Mole meeting Rat._

 _I will keep riting letters as long as you want me to. I think, if I call, then I might interupt you doing sumthing, and I dont want to be rude._

 _Merlin says you make good apple pie. Do you like to cook? I cooked supe yesterday and made sandwiches, to. Gaius was glad he didnt hav to. He says he will teech me to reed a resipy wen we git to frakshuns in math. But he says cooking and baking are difrint. He dusnt bake. He says men dont bake, thay find a wumun to do it for them, or go without. But thay hav a bakry at the store. I didnt understand and he didn't explane vary well._

 _I dont know about making frends with Gaius, but we are gitting used to eech uthur. He is grouchy but he dusnt meen it._

 _If Merlin kums, I will send apples home to you for baking._

 _I miss you,_

 _AJ_

* * *

(City to Farmhouse, Oct. 13)

 _Dear AJ,_

 _That's a good nickname, did Merlin come up with that? I like that._

 _Wow, it's been a long time since I've done this. Write on paper, I mean, rather than using a keyboard. Merlin said he'd stuff my letter in with his, so if he's paying for postage, here goes._

 _Don't worry about me and Gaius, we're cool. He disapproves of Merlin associating with me, because of the stuff I do with computers. But if I didn't, it wouldn't have been as easy to get you un-penned. Ha, ha, get that? Because you were the Penned Dragon._

 _Never mind, bad joke._

 _Anyway, you sound like a good guy, too, though you can keep all the teleportation trips for yourself. Just be careful, all right, for Merlin's sake. Don't get caught. We'll meet up sometime, and til then, enjoy life. Drink booze and hit on girls and make up for some lost time, all right? And if you ever need my expertise for a favor, just call._

 _Your friend,_

 _Gwaine._

 _PS. You can marry my sister if you want. Her name is Flo and she's got a voice like a harpy. Worse than a damn smoke alarm at four in the morning. Count your blessings, my friend._

…..*…..

 _Dear AJ,_

 _I'm glad you liked the books. Developmentally, they should go – Wind in the Willows, then Tom Sawyer, then Robin Hood - but you read them in whatever order interests you. I wondered if Wind in the Willows was too childish, so I'm glad to hear you like it. Definitely keep writing – no one writes letters anymore, so it's nice to get mail that isn't bills or ads. But please call whenever you like – if I'm home, I'll be happy to talk, there's nothing really to interrupt._

 _I like to try new recipes, too, though usually my stepmom (Merlin's mom) does the cooking around here. Once I finish my internship, though, I'll be able to afford my own apartment, and then I'll have to do my own cooking. But yes! I will bake any apples you send into a pie._

 _Merlin said he was going to look for a few days he could take off toward the end of the month, but I was wondering if maybe we could make plans for New Year's. The actual holiday is in the middle of the week, so I could probably get off a few days later, and make it a long weekend. As long as the roads aren't crazy because of snow, though if Merlin is driving, I guess we'll be perfectly safe._

 _I'm glad you're getting to know Gaius. I'm sure he's a great teacher – good luck with the fractions!_

 _Miss you,_

 _Gwen_

…..*…..

 _Dear AJ,_

 _Bad news first. I don't think I'm coming anytime soon. Not that I don't want to, because I really really do._

 _Thing is. Gaius' hint about how to play Leon Willenbrink off against Lee Parks is probably going to pay off in the next week, so that situation is taking a lot of time and attention. I've met with Leon twice, and he seems a solid, decent guy, so this might work. Helluva locksmith too, apparently._

 _The other thing is, I had a phone call the other day from someone representing Uther Flite. Wanted to know if I wanted a job doing background checks on clients. I got the feeling your dad hasn't given up yet, and he's sifting through anyone who might have come into contact with you. Which means he's probably scrutinized his own employees and ruled them out, and that he's already – or still – paid some very close attention to me, if he's trusting me to do these checks. Or he suspects, and this is a test._

 _Please don't take this the wrong way, but I made sure Gwen shredded your letters like I did. That goes to be recycled along with all my discarded office paperwork, no chance anyone sees it. You should be fine keeping our letters, though. Please do keep writing anyway – we agree you're showing improvement, and we're both proud of you. And Gwaine was impressed, I could tell – and he doesn't impress easily._

 _So Gaius is teaching you the tools of our trade as well as the three R's. That's good, it'll be useful, especially if your dad doesn't just jet off to Europe to spend the rest of his millions in retirement. Maybe you'll be giving me pointers someday, huh?_

 _About Freya, though. She's not really my girlfriend. We met for coffee once, and we've texted back and forth, and she said she'd go out with me again, but a lot of the time my schedule doesn't like things set in advance. And sometimes she's got a deadline she's writing toward. I don't know, she's so pretty and really nice, but she's so smart. College degree in journalism, when I just have my high school diploma. I don't think that would matter to her, necessarily, it just makes me think, she can do better than me, you know? Maybe we should just stay friends. She's a good friend – a good listener, but always with something interesting to say, too. No, not a chatterbox._

 _Tell me when you've worked your way through the books Gwen sent. I'll send you some John Grisham. I think you'd like The Partner, at least. We could take a lesson from that, and make a plan to save our butts when your dad catches up with us… something for another day, maybe. Don't worry about it, we're safe enough for now._

 _Send a box of apples. Gwaine's mom will make turnovers or something, in addition to Gwen's pie. You're about done with the garden and the orchard these days, right? Gaius is probably thinking about transferring his livestock from the barn to the deep-freeze, huh?_

 _I've sent some money for you to buy winter stuff – boots and hat and coat and scarf. Let me know if you need more – I'm pretty sure of a check over the Lee Parks thing._

 _Take care, A. I really truly hope you're happy, and I'm looking forward to visiting, when I can._

 _Your friend,_

 _Merlin_

* * *

(Farmhouse to City, Oct. 20)

 _Dear Gwen,_

 _Here are the apples. Sum of them are for Gwaine's mom, to._

 _Merlin said you couldnt keep my letters. Its all right, I will keep writing anyway. And I will keep yors. I like them better then Wind in the Willows._

 _We sumtimes git a frozen meal in a box, and all you have to do is open it and heat it, and Gaius lets me do that. And dishes. And I clean the basemint. Lots of work outside. I still dont like the animuls much, but Gaius says its difrint when you git them as babys and git to know them over time. That makes sens I gess, but hes still going to butcher them for meat this winter. I dont know._

 _It sounds lownly to have an apartment by yorself. I think Id rather live with my famly. Especially – I asked Gaius how to spell that – if Merlin wuz my famly. It wuz nice to stay in the motel room with him. I wish he could come visit, but I know yull come when its safe. Even if its not til New Year's._

 _Gaius is starting to teach me about engins. He works on two old ones sumtimes. One runs and one duznt, but I can praktis in the driveway and the rode a little. He is a good teacher. He says Im good cumpiny._

 _Yor good compiny, to._

 _I miss you,_

 _AJ_

…..*…..

 _Dear Merlin,_

 _Heres yor box of apples. Maybe next time well send sausage (I asked Gaius how to spell that)._

 _Its ok you cant come. I know yor bisy. Wer bisy to, with the animuls and garden and the trucks and the house. And runing and reading and writing and cooking and driving. I gess I dont have time for you to visit after all._

 _That was a joke. Yur right about jokes on paper. Pleze come eneway, whenever you can._

 _Are you going to take the job for my fathers compiny. Gaius thinks it might be a good idea. He said smoke screen and find out whut thay know. But he says yor good at yor job and we trust you._

 _I think you should see Freya, if you like her. Theres a girl at the farmers market, evry Tusday, she stops to talk to me and smiles a lot. Gaius says shes intrested in me. Shes pretty, but I cant talk to her. I cant say enething true when she asks kweschuns. Gaius says no harm gitting to know her, but if she cant git to know me, then why. But yor not me. You can tell Freya things, and if you want to git to know her and she wants to know you, then you should. If shes smart like you said, then shill like you as much as you like her._

 _I finished Gwens book. Gaius says Grisham is still beyond me, but maybe not for long._

 _Also dont send monny. Gaius is teaching me about bills and so on in math – and recipes in fractions, Gwen taught me how to spell that – so we figured my part of his bills and how much he would pay me for jobs, and I come out ahead, a little. Gaius says I have a good head for numbers, but hopefully thats all I git from my father._

 _Next week is Halloween (Gaius spelled it for me). So there are still some apples. Razberrys, and squash. I dont like squash. And it wont sell at the markit. I told Gaius not to plant it next year. He says no kids come this far out of town, so maybe well walk a few blocks to watch them in theyr costumes. He said for you to be carefull, that night can be dangerus in the city._

 _Maybe sometime Gwaine can come visit. Or if my father furgits about me next year, I can come to the city. Gaius says if we git the black Ford working well, we can drive the two ours to visit you._

 _Your friend,_

 _AJ_

* * *

October 31 was half over when Merlin realized, he'd run out of the work that had pressed him insistently for most of the season. The bank robber's stolen millions returned, and the list of names of Penned Dragon clients investigated, sorted, compiled, submitted. And of course all of them were innocent.

So he'd run out of legitimate excuses.

 _I think you should see Freya, if you like her. If you want to get to know her, and she wants to know you…_

So, before he could lose his nerve, Merlin took out his phone and keyed a text to Freya, at the end of a very long, several-entries-per-day thread.

 **Do you have plans tonight?**

He turned the keys in the ignition, engine off, and sat in his parked truck at the curb of his basement apartment. Just around the corner and up the hill was the garage and main entrance, where Tom and Hunith parked.

But it was only a moment til his phone chimed to alert him to the incoming message.

 **Please give me an excuse to skip the floor costume party.**

He grinned, slouching in the driver's seat a little more, relaxed by the assurance of his welcome with her. **Go out with me? Second date. It's almost last-minute, I know…**

She responded with a widely-smiling smiley-face. And, **For dinner?**

He hesitated. That… was kind of a minefield. Where he took her, and what they wore, and if she'd insist on paying, and eating was weird for a date anyway. Chewing and chewing while trying to carry on a conversation but not talk with food in your mouth or embarrass the other person asking a question when they took a bite, and then there went your clean teeth and fresh breath, too.

 **Drinks** , he texted back.

He was still holding his breath when she answered, **Good, that means I can get this article done first. 9.15 do ya?**

 **I'll pick you up from there. Curbside 9.15.** He dithered over which smiley face to send, and finally picked one with eyebrows that seemed to express appropriate anticipation.

Someone tapped on the passenger side window, and he looked up to see Gwen reaching for the door handle. She climbed up to the seat and closed the door behind her, one knee up to face him with a knowing smile.

"Let me guess," she said. "Judging by that look on your face, you've got a date."

He grinned at her. "Freya McKenzie."

"From the Sun-Star?" He nodded, and Gwen looked thoughtfully out the windshield. "I thought you were researching Penned Dragon clients for questionable connections."

On Gaius' advice, he'd accepted the offer to do background checks on Penned Dragon clients. Turn up any discrepancies between sighed forms and fact, highlight anyone with any brush with the law in their past, and especially anything that might betray antipathy to the Penned Dragon, Uther Flite, or the theory behind the whole enterprise. He'd wondered if they had another P.I. or similar individual checking up on _him_.

That was one of the reasons, he told himself, he'd been delaying. But he'd been forced to come to a different conclusion. "It would make me look guilty to try to deny the relationship, if they're already aware of it. It's not _purely_ social, but they won't know that."

"Tell me if it's too early to answer this, but… how serious are you, about her?" She glanced at him to catch his raised eyebrows. "I mean, since our parents have been married, you've been out with a grand total of two girls, both of which you very nicely resisted going out a second time with. And your stupid excuse about dinner dates being awkward. And that look you're wearing, sitting in your parked truck at the curb for half an hour."

He checked the truck's clock in surprise. "That long? Really?"

"Yeah. So, give."

He sighed. "I don't know, Gwen. It's second date. I'm not going to propose or anything."

"Omigosh you've thought about _proposing_?" She looked and sounded shocked.

"No! It's just…" He could feel his face heating up; of course she was teasing.

"You really like her?"

He repeated, helplessly admitting, "I really like her. But she could do so much better than me."

Gwen reached over and whacked his shoulder. "Shut up. If you like her, then let her decide what she wants."

He grimaced. "Be brave enough to chance rejection? Speaking of which, Lancelot said the other day that-"

"No," she interrupted. "And you're changing the subject."

He didn't continue, just sat back to face her more fully, and raised an eyebrow.

She sighed and relented. "It's not fair, to keep seeing him and telling him _just friends_ , when every time gives him hope that someday it'll be more."

"Is there someone else?" Merlin asked, quietly but seriously curious.

"No. It's just… _not_ him."

Merlin thought about that. He couldn't sympathize with that certainty… when he thought of Freya, there seemed to be a slowly-blooming anticipation of, what if it _is_ her…

"So you're going to stay home and hand out candy to trick-or-treaters tonight?" he said.

"I'll probably eat half of it." She gave him a smile that bunched her cheeks and made her eyes twinkle. "Chocolate is a great cure for lonesomeness."

"My mom and your dad will be home," he pointed out.

She rolled her eyes, reaching for the door handle. "I think that makes it worse. Come on, Casanova, you've got an actual date to get ready for."

A few drips from the carwash were still trying to dry on Merlin's truck when he pulled it to the curb in front of the Sun-Star at ten after nine. His hair was still drying, too – not neatly combed anymore, after his fingers had been nervously through it more than once.

But he didn't have much time to second-guess choices of clothing or venue – Freya pushed through the street door at twelve minutes after, the streetlights picking up the white of her striped Pippi-Longstocking tights, that she'd been wearing the first time they'd met, and the gleam of her wide happy smile, seeing him.

She opened the passenger door and hopped up much as Gwen had done, her bag tucked onto the seat beside her hip, beside the brown paper grocery bag with the top rolled shut, between them.

And then he thought, he should have opened the car door for her. Or would that have been too much?

"Hi!" she said, reaching to pull the band from her ponytail – wavy hair swooshing down to cover the shorn sides above her ears that fascinated him.

"Hi," he responded, brilliantly. And turned his attention to driving, pulling the truck away from the curb without causing an accident in the rest of the early-evening traffic. "So… no costume party for you?"

She reached for her seatbelt. "All I had to wear was gypsy-witch, and then someone said how could they tell the difference from how I normally dress. I suppose I could have asked you to come up… but that's not fair, to a costume party if you don't know to dress up in time to plan something, and in any case, maybe it would be a bit much for… second date."

"Yeah," he said without thinking. An office full of her coworkers in costume scrutinizing him, like some guy who'd gotten lost and wandered in off the street.

She snickered, and he took a moment to absorb her presence from the corner of his eye. She wore her knee-high boy-boots and a short black dress, looking soft like jersey material, under an olive-green shirt that appeared to be mostly lace, showing the straps of the dress. Her usual mix of necklaces, and a wide bracelet made of mismatched buttons.

"I read that you'd been involved in recovering the Lee Parks millions," she said. "That was more exciting in person that on paper, wasn't it?"

He couldn't stop his mouth pulling sideways in remembrance. Leon Willenbrink was a fine example of an upstanding citizen, in spite of his rather notorious father. Merlin had gone to him for full disclosure and cooperation; he'd been aware of his father's crimes and the gains ill-gotten from them, and had been pressured by Lee Parks to accept all or most of the 3-point-75, as conscience money for being one of the worst fathers ever.

"Gaius gave me some good advice," he said; he'd told her a little about the old P.I. who'd been his mentor. "A contact who partnered me for that deal. Simple, really."

He refrained from saying, he knew someone who made Lee Parks look like father of the year. At least he acknowledged his crime, and paid for it with jail time. And tried to right his wrongs with his son, even if it was a backwards sort of idea, essentially to make his son a criminal also, if he received the stolen goods, so to speak.

Leon wanted none of it. And, it seemed, Lee Parks wanted none of it for himself if he couldn't use it for his son. Solution: Merlin brokered an arrangement whereby the stolen cash was returned to police custody, and Leon accepted one of Merlin's eighteen-thousands for his cut of the finder's fee.

He was going to use it to buy an engagement ring for his girlfriend. And since his father wasn't going to be hounded anymore, but was actually praised in the media as a reformed character, there was talk of him receiving a wedding invitation.

"How was your deadline?" he asked Freya.

"Met," she said with obvious satisfaction. "And I haven't come down from the first flush of triumph to the gloom of second-guessing comma placement and metaphor choice yet, either." She was glowing with satisfaction in her work, and he loved it.

"So you're saying you'll be excellent company as long as I can keep your mind off work?" he quipped.

She laughed at him. "Says the man who hasn't had a free evening since September."

"I texted, didn't I?" he protested, checking his mirrors to make a turn.

"Mm. I was starting to suspect you'd changed your mind," she said. "Free and clear after that thing with Arthur, and you didn't need me for insurance after all."

He took another glance at her, slowing for a yellow light. She was watching something away to the side out the front window. "I figured you'd have a line of guys, all smart and successful and safe. Better for you if we didn't… ever…"

She looked at him, and he found it hard to hold the level gaze of her dark eyes in the imminent inevitability of the light turning green.

"You didn't think that," she said. "Did you?"

The light changed, and he stepped slowly on the accelerator. She kept watching him even though he had to turn his eyes forward to the street and city traffic.

"Merlin," she said. "You have your own business, and a significant recent success because you outsmarted competition. You risked your safety and freedom and secrets for your principles – and _won_. Me? I have student debt and an online column. In high school I went to movies on Friday night with one guy because his dad and mine were friends, and I didn't even like to hold his hand, it was squishy and damp."

Merlin couldn't help a snicker.

The paper bag crinkled as she reached across it to flick the backs of her fingers against his shoulder. "Shut up," she said, but he could hear the grin in her voice. "I'm just saying. It's easy to project professional confidence – but personally… I feel a bit more shy. Inexperienced."

He let up on the gas and touched the brake, their destination approaching as he eyed the streetsides for a parking space.

"You shouldn't need experience to feel confident," he told her. "You are who you are – and if a guy can't value and respect that, then he doesn't deserve you."

"Uh huh," she said, resisting his philosophy slightly with faint sarcasm – then looked around as he shifted into park and removed the keys. "Where are we? I thought we were going for drinks?"

"Yeah," he said, opening his door and grabbing the paper bag. "Sort of."

She gave him a look of intrigued exasperation, and opened her door also. Pausing, he watched her get out – then he leaned back in to snatch the flannel shirt he'd discarded one warm afternoon the previous week. That lace wasn't going to do much for her, tonight. A surreptitious sniff relieved him – it didn't smell of laundry detergent anymore, but it didn't smell bad, either.

"The park?" she asked as he rounded the front of the truck to join her on the sidewalk, looking for traffic before they crossed the last street.

"Yeah," he said again, struggling with flannel and paper bag and trying to shrug out of his jacket at the same time. "Here."

"What are you doing," she said, but took the paper bag while he traded jacket for flannel – and took the jacket uncomprehending as he retrieved the bag.

"If you're not chilly now, you might be later," Merlin explained, covering self-consciousness in looking for a park bench. There, was one about twenty yards away along the bike path.

She followed him, slipping her arms into the soft lining of the canvas jacket, snuggling the collar up to her chin and letting out an audible sigh that sounded a lot like contentment. "Stick a fork in me, I'm done."

"What?" he said over his shoulder, heading for the bench. There was a lamp on a post behind the bench; it would illumine the trees and landscaping of the park without being in their eyes.

"Jacket smells like you," she said indistinctly, tucking her chin into the collar she was still holding. Without further explanation, she settled onto the bench, knees sideways to him and crossed.

"Hope that's not a bad thing." He seated himself in much the same way, facing her, to unroll the paper bag between them and unpack it. First, two long-stemmed glasses, given to her to hold. Next, dark-glass bottle of wine and corkscrew – lucky for him they sold the little tool in the same market aisle.

"No, it's not… And this is your idea of drinks," she said, and he couldn't quite decipher her tone, whether she was laughing at him – or herself.

"Yeah," he said. "And it's quiet and the air is clean and there's no waiter or bartender to interrupt and no sports game on the big screen to distract…" The cork squeezed from the bottle and he was just glad he didn't drop it to smash on the sidewalk. "Although, wine is not my thing. Someone told me once, red is sweet and white is dry, and this label -" he tilted the bottle to fill both glasses, held in either of her hands halfway, before setting it and the bag at their feet – "says blackberry and pear. Overtones or undertones or aftertaste…"

"Aftertaste?" she giggled, handing him one glass.

"Whatever." He tried it, and it was so close to what he hoped as to make no difference. Warm as far as taste, not temperature, and not too alcoholic. Not too sticky.

"It's good," she said, smiling and relaxing back.

"And we have the whole bottle," he added, doing the same. His shoulder just brushed hers, but she shifted a bit to bring them more definitely into contact, and he relaxed at the reassurance.

"You think we'll need it?" she asked.

"Why not?" He tasted another mouthful, and felt a bit of tension – uncertainty at her reception of his idea for the date – melt away.

She did the same. "I thought, you know, that you were special," she said aloud, facing away into the cool darkness of the virtually-deserted park. All the families trick-or-treating home now and trying for bed on a sugar-high. Not late enough for teenage vandals. "And you are. But it's the sort of special that might keep you a bit… isolated. Your magic, I mean." She peeked at him over the rim of her glass, taking another sip.

He sighed and shrugged. "It's not really fair to say to a girl, take this risk with me."

Her smile spread and gave her fine features an elfin look. "But it's okay to say to a journalist?"

He chuckled, conceding the point. "You were very nice about the idea of a second date. I wasn't sure whether I _should_ , but my sister said, let you decide what you wanted."

Freya made a noise of comprehension, taking another sip of her wine. "So what do _you_ want?"

From life, or from her? The entire night seemed to hold its breath around him. And really it would be easier if he could say like Gwen, pretty absolutely not.

 _Maybe_ was… kind of terrifying?

"I… haven't even admitted it to myself," he told her, toying with the delicate glass. "I don't know. Someone who understands me. Someone who'll forgive me when I screw up. A _friend_ , you know? more than a friend. Someone who needs me, too."

She cleared her throat, the focus of her gaze somewhere in her lap, or his. "Merlin, there's something I want to ask you about. Something I've been wondering…"

And his phone rang. Quiet, subtle piano jazz with snare drum in the background.

"Sorry," he said, cringing a bit and digging for his phone in his back pocket, one-handed, with his wine glass in his other. Instinctively his thumb moved for the red marker to silent the call – probably turning the phone off was proper date etiquette, remember that for next time – but the tag said _Gaius_ , and he paused.

"If it's important," she said, as if perfectly willing to be patient. Not begrudging.

"It might be." Merlin didn't stand up to walk away, but hit the green button. "Hello?"

"Merlin." It was Arthur's voice, not Gaius, and Merlin's whole body alerted. Arthur didn't call; he'd talk if Merlin called, but Gwen thought he didn't yet have the confidence that he wasn't bothering them, any given time.

"Arthur?" he said, and Freya sat up a little, questioning him with her expression. "What's going on? Is something wrong?"

 **A/N: Sorry about the cut-off, otherwise it would have been** _ **long**_ **. Will it help if I say, it's not really a cliffie, just a continuation of fluff?... And chapter 10 is well begun…**


	10. Dealing with Feelings

**Chapter 10: Dealing with Feelings**

 _"Arthur?" Merlin said. "What's going on? Is something wrong?"_

"I'm angry."

Merlin waited, but it seemed no further words of explanation would be voluntarily forthcoming. He spoke into his phone, drawing out the word to indicate the impossibility of comprehension, "And…"

"That's what's wrong. I'm angry."

He was, Merlin could hear it in the hard, clipped words. And Merlin wasn't even good at _this_ , but it wasn't like they could seek professional help.

"There's nothing wrong with feeling angry… Are you angry with someone?" he said. Gaius, since he wasn't talking to the old man, but calling Merlin? "Or at something?"

"Yes." Arthur breathed once, deliberately. At least he was relatively calm – not screaming and throwing things, but dealing with it by coming to Merlin to talk.

"Why don't you tell me," Merlin proposed. Still sitting on the park bench, he leaned over, resting his opposite forearm across his knees. This might take a while. Freya might be offended. But…

"I'm angry that I was born this way. I'm angry that no one taught me what to do about it, I'm angry what my father did to me and took something from me that I can't get back and I'm damn furious being stupid all the time and helpless and-"

"Okay," Merlin said, trying to be soothing.

"It's not okay!" Arthur snapped back. "It's not… I'm not…"

Merlin let the silence calm them both, a moment. He realized he'd closed his eyes to concentrate and center himself. He felt Freya lean over next to him, taking the wine glass from his other hand. She must have set them both aside, for the next moment her fingers were sliding into his, and it was an anchor for his emotions.

"The veil is close tonight," Arthur said, and his voice trembled. "Spirits slip through on their own. They ignore me, usually, they have their own business and one night to try to accomplish it, and… there was a woman. She told me to tell Gaius…" Arthur made a noise of impatience. "A message. And he…"

Merlin didn't ask, who the spirit was. If he didn't already know, then it wasn't something Gaius wanted him to know.

"He reacted badly?" Merlin guessed in a low voice.

Arthur made a noise of affirmation that was hurt and angry.

"He'll be sorry tomorrow," Merlin predicted heavily. That wouldn't make it all right, but, "Life sucks sometimes."

"Mm hm." Arthur snorted like it was that, or allow tears. " _You_ know. What it feels like. To have something you didn't ask for. To screw up in how you use it."

"To use it exactly right, and still feel like everything's gone wrong, and it's your fault when it's not, and you resent the gift and the feeling," Merlin finished. "Yeah, I know."

Arthur sighed, a long drawn-out release of the anger he'd claimed. "Magic sucks."

"Sometimes," Merlin agreed. "But sometimes not."

Silence for another moment. "I'm sorry I hurt him. I didn't mean to."

"He'll know that," Merlin said. "Hey. It's okay to be angry… as long as you don't stay angry, all right? Go… kick the hay bales in the barn. Or something."

Another snort… then another sigh. "Is Gwen there? I can talk to her for a minute?"

"I'm…" Merlin hesitated, but only for a moment. "Out with Freya, actually. But Gwen is home, so you could call her there."

"Your _date_?" Arthur said. "Hells. Merlin, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have. Called, interrupted, and I'm-"

"No," Merlin said. "It's totally fine. Freya's cool…" She huffed, and bumped into him where she leaned on him, so that his body swayed, but he grinned to have that expressive contact.

"Tell him I said hi, and I hope he's doing okay," she hissed in his ear.

Merlin passed on the message. "I'm serious, all right. Call if you need to, anytime."

" 'Kay. Sorry. Sorry, Freya. Have fun on your date."

"I'll talk to you tomorrow," Merlin promised.

Arthur grunted before ending the call, and Merlin hoped he'd contact Gwen and talk out the rest of his feelings.

He didn't immediately straighten, instead turning the phone in his hand to use his knuckle to squeeze moisture from his eyes. "Sorry."

"Don't be," she said immediately, tightening her hold on him – one hand curled through his, the other wrapped around his waist.

"It's actually good news," he told her. "He should be angry. At his father, at what happened to him. I don't think he'll stay angry, but it's honestly an improvement, that he lets himself feel that, and identifies it as something to be dealt with. Not ignored or indulged."

"You're a great friend, Merlin."

He huffed, sitting back on the park bench and glancing about for their wine-glasses; Freya had set them down on the pavement on her other side. She didn't follow his attention, though, but kept intent focus on his face.

"Can I keep you?"

He blinked at her and she smiled, the intensity softening.

"As my friend, I mean."

"I'd really like that," he said, relaxing back and beginning to feel the pull of physical weariness. She snuggled into his side a little, keeping hold of his hand, and he remembered, "You were going to ask me a question."

"I was." She looked down at his hand, took a deep breath, and let it out gradually. "The last time we met, at the café. Just as I was leaving."

That spark of exhilarating premonition. It hadn't happened again, tonight; it hadn't happened with anyone else, either. "Oh."

She went very still. "You felt it too, didn't you. You saw it, whatever that was."

"Yeah…" He felt like he should apologize, but… he wasn't really sorry it happened. "I don't know whether that was a glimpse of… the future, or whether I… somehow a desire manifested itself…"

She cocked her head at him, brows down. "How could you desire… _that_ , after an hour's interview?"

Wasn't it warm out, tonight? "I…" he began. "It was maybe… subconscious?"

"I have thought of that moment," she said slowly, "every time I've thought of you. Every time you texted. Every time you didn't."

He felt inordinately pleased with himself. She was thinking about him! He thought of her, too, rather a lot, but it was nice to know the reverse was true, too.

"I wondered. If it was the future, if it was fated, if we got together was it just because of… that inevitability, and not fighting it, or because what we had or might make, was _true_."

He nodded, following her reasoning. Because there was a difference. Did you do something because you knew you were destined to do it, or because you wanted to.

"And then I thought. If that's what you wanted, and that's what I wanted, too, then why should I mind if that moment skips us past the awkward preliminaries of a relationship? Trying to flirt and attract, but fall no further involved than the other person – not wanting them to be more invested than you are – all the small talk and emotional maneuvering. Trying to _see_ the other person but putting on a big show, yourself."

"I think you think too much," Merlin told her gently. "Or is that just a girl thing?"

She snorted a laugh, and it was adorable.

"I think I could marry you," she said. Warmth flooded through him, a happy certain feeling of satisfaction. Contentment. "Not that I'm at all ready for marriage," she added. "But, you know. When you get around to asking."

"I'm not either," he told her, leaning and shifting to tip the side of his forehead against hers. And she didn't stiffen at all, but moved her fingers minutely within his. "Ready for marriage, I mean. But when I am… I don't know anyone I'd rather ask."

"You could change your mind," she informed him, but her voice was warm and her lips were smiling and he wanted to be closer.

"So could you."

"But until we do?" She lifted her chin so that her cheek brushed his, her nose and the side of her mouth. "We're _together_ together, now?"

He held very still, and inhaled deeply. Wine, and… her. "Are you sure," he whispered, voicing a lurking fear, "that you're not just… interested in, and curious about… the magic?"

She freed her hand from his, and reached tentatively for the other side of his face. He turned his lips into her palm, cupping her hand to keep it there.

"Are you sure you're not with me just because I already know?" she answered. "And you don't have to worry about my reaction later on?"

Maybe it was part of what he found attractive in the relationship, the ability to be thoroughly honest with her, to be already known and accepted. But if there hadn't already been the deeper element of trust, he wouldn't have told her to begin with.

And then all he was thinking was that her skin was soft, and warm in the cool night, and her lips held willingly and parted only inches from his. He turned his head a few degrees – she inhaled in surprise but didn't retreat and-

He kissed her. Small, subtle movements… undemanding… reassuring…

She was shy, and uncertain. But there was a definite moment when that _shifted_ , and she kissed him back with growing confidence. Curiosity, and... pleasure that rippled through him, shivers that spread the heat of tingles.

He wanted to pull her close, hold her tightly against him, let his hands slide over the slope of her back, learn the contours of shoulders, arms, neck – venture lower to press himself into her-

 _Oh, hell. No, please don't spark that image to her. Not yet._

But they were sitting next to each other on a park bench, and the angles were wrong for more than a hand around the back of her shoulder and the other against her cheek, so he let their kisses drift slower and shallower. Finally, he took a breath and brushed his fingertips through her hair to touch that short fine shorn area on the side of her head.

She made a sound that was very like a purr – deliberately, he thought, letting him know her delight and satisfaction in their intimate moment.

A rather breathy laugh escaped him, and it was much the same thing. _Wow. You're quite a kisser. Do you know what you do to me?_

"The wine?" he suggested, retreating just a little.

The look in her dark eyes almost made him reconsider that move, and try to convince himself it _wouldn't_ be comfortable to lie full-length on the park bench, even if she was cushioned above him on his body.

But she turned and bent to reclaim their glasses – and then the bottle, filling them both again. "We could finish it…"

She set the bottle down and took a swallow, and he couldn't help watching her mouth and feeling very warm, even without the alcohol in his own stomach and blood. He wasn't worried, but she might be – "What about me driving you home?"

"It's not that strong. And we could just sit here til your head clears, if need be." She snuggled in beside him again, and he transferred his glass to his other hand to put his arm around her.

For a moment they just sat, and he marveled at the miracle of someone wanting to be so close to him. The near-impossibility of the one he wanted, wanting him too. He was going to keep her, keep this feeling for her, forever.

"And what if," she said. "When you drop me at my curb, I invite you up to my place."

He smiled down at the top of her head; she was gazing off into the park, and testing him again, maybe. He leaned down and kissed her hair. "I'd kiss you like this –" he did it again – "and tell you I'm tempted, but… go sleep til inhibitions and good sense find you again. And we'll take it slow."

She laughed out loud, softly and incredulously. "Merlin Emrys…" She slapped and then squeezed his leg. "I'm definitely keeping you.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Having identified the undeniable anger, Arthur was frustrated – frustrated! – to have fear and shame and resentment creep in, also. So much for limiting himself to feeling curiosity.

He sat sideways on the basement couch – his, but not really his – with his heels dug down between two cushions. Leaning over his knees and occasionally rocking a bit, to contain his reactive emotions, which refused to be tamed by someone with so little experience doing it.

At least, after talking to Merlin, he didn't feel like he was going to explode anymore. No desire to hurt anyone else, or himself.

Upstairs, Gaius was snoring in his room, having evidently fallen asleep locked in with his bottle and his old music.

Arthur envied him – dammit, another damn emotion that got out!

Or maybe it was fairest to let them all go, no check and no control, no little white room in the center of his being to keep such strong and sentient feelings contained.

He didn't have a bottle. All the bottles belonged to Gaius, not matter how they figured the finances on lined paper. All the music, all the food, everything he had was given by someone else. Part of him wanted to indulge the childish spoiling, ask for more and more; part of him wanted to refuse everything, strike out on his own and work for his living. Those parts see-sawed gently most days, allowing him to carry on learning, safety dependent on someone else til he was ready and equipped and able to support himself.

But tonight. Like the collapse of the see-saw's fulcrum – a word Gaius taught him in the math that concerned shapes and drawings – everything was flat.

Merlin knew. If Merlin was here they could share a bottle. And scream and cry and laugh til they fell asleep to the music that spoke to them… but he wasn't here. He'd come to terms with his abilities long ago, with a father Arthur was jealous of.

Jealous. Dammit.

He wouldn't call Balinor out from the veil, either. The older man was at peace, no unfinished business for him. And it felt selfish to make him listen to Arthur rant and snort and puff – and then, after all, tell Arthur what he already knew.

Life sucks, but you keep going. Get angry but don't stay angry.

Instead of going out to the barn to kick the daylights out of the stacks of hay bales, Arthur picked up Gaius' house phone and dialed the numbers. It rang twice, before a woman answered.

"Hello?"

Not Gwen, but she sounded nice. Happy, satisfied… Merlin's mother, Arthur realized. Who'd lost Balinor, her husband – and carried on making and finding happiness, and love, without twisting her son's abilities around to her own benefit…

"Merlin said Gwen was there?" he said, his voice feeling husky. "If I'm not interrupting anything…"

"No, not at all," she said. "Halloween is a late night, right? Who may I say is calling?"

"Ar-" he began, then amended, "This is AJ."

"Oh, the letter writer," she said, sounding pleased. "Gwen, it's AJ on the phone for you!" And then to him she added, "Letter writing is very romantic. A lost art. I _totally_ approve."

"Well, I also write to-" He could tell she wasn't listening, distracted maybe with Gwen's arrival at the phone.

"Hunith!" he heard Gwen hiss. "It's not _romantic_ , we're just friends! Omigosh!"

The laughter of Merlin's mom faded out, and Gwen cleared her throat. Waited another moment.

And then, brightly, "Hi, Arthur, how's it going?"

He found he wasn't half as angry anymore as the simmer Merlin had calmed him down to. "Life sucks," he told Gwen.

She sighed into the phone, but he could hear her smile. "Ain't it the truth?"

"I was angry," he informed her honestly. "I called Merlin, and it helped, but-"

"He's with Freya," she said at the same time as he did. "Yeah. Well, here I am, off work on Halloween night – thank goodness, you would not _believe_ what comes into the ER on Halloween – so. I'm all ears. What's going on?"

His turn to sigh – but then he could tell her the whole story from the beginning, fairly calmly. They'd walked uptown to get candy from the market for the trick-or-treaters, already starting to flood the sidewalks. He didn't recognize half the costumes – but they were cute and cool and so on. He remembered being very small, skipping between his parents and holding their hands; his dad held his loot in an orange plastic jack-o-lantern and smiled over his head at his mom…

And then the spirits began making their appearance. One or two at a time, and no one else noticed, but it was enough to jar other memories loose and tighten tension…

"Gaius said let's just go home," he finished. "So we did, but one followed us. She didn't notice me, but when I told Gaius, he – didn't believe me. Then he was mad. And I told him what she was trying to say – there was a book he lost and she knew where it was. She wanted him to find it, she gave it to him as a birthday present or something years ago. Important to her or him or both of them."

Gwen made a noise of sympathy and comprehension, and he relaxed his legs, sprawling out on the couch and leaning back against the arm.

"So the book was where she said it would be, and Gaius was crying and I was trying to tell him the rest of it, that she loved him and he shouldn't blame himself…"

And mostly people came to him eager for their messages from behind the veil. Sat in the chairs in the rooms and waited; they didn't stalk around the house finding a bottle and a single antisocial glass.

"Do you know who she was?" Gwen asked quietly.

"No," he said. "But she loved him. And he held himself responsible for something, but I don't know that either."

"What happened?"

"Gaius was angry." Arthur swallowed, a tremor rippling through him at the old man's expression, rounding on him in the kitchen. Still in tears, anguished, wrathful – like it was Arthur's fault. "Told me, shut the hell up. Threw a couple of shot glasses."

"At you?" Gwen asked, aghast.

"Not really." Sort of. At the wall behind Arthur, anyway. "Then he kind of stood and looked at the pieces, and then went and locked himself in the bedroom with the bottle. There's been music playing, and I heard his voice – but he's asleep now."

"I'm really sorry, Arthur," she said quietly.

"So am I," he admitted. Maybe he should say it to Gaius, tomorrow. Sorry for the hurt the old man felt, not that he'd passed the message necessary for the spirit's rest.

"People act irrationally, when they've lost someone they love," she said.

He snorted. "Don't I know it. I guess I thought… Gaius wouldn't."

"You never know." After a moment she asked, "What did Merlin have to say about it?"

"He said it was okay to get mad, but not to stay mad."

"That's good advice."

Arthur listened to the clock tick a couple of times, then burrowed deeper into the couch cushions, closing his eyes to imagine they were only inches apart, rather than hours or miles. Remembering that Merlin had been on a date, and Gwen…

"Are you all right?" he said into the silence on the line between them.

She sighed again. "I have a Gaius situation myself. There's a guy who wants more from me than I can give."

"Oh," he said, understanding that she was talking about a relationship. Love. "Why can't you give him more?"

"Because. I don't know. I like him a lot, he's a really nice guy – good friends with Merlin, so there's that complication, too. But it's just… not… I don't know. I can easily go out with him one night and have fun – I mean, it's nice when someone likes you and pays you exclusive attention and tries to please you. But when I think about next week and next month and next year, I know that I don't want to be with him for the rest of my life. I wouldn't be happy, and he couldn't _make_ me happy and that would make him unhappy…"

"Oh," Arthur said again. Because he knew, relationships could be a _lot_ more tangled than that, but he had no personal experience at all to draw on for advice. Oh, but there was – "You sound frustrated."

She gave a short laugh. "Yeah, I guess I am. What I would love to have happen, is for him to meet someone else who can fall in love with him. I want him to be happy – I just don't want to be the person carrying that burden, you know?"

"Life sucks," he said.

This time her chuckle was softer, longer, easier, and he smiled to be the cause of it. "Well," she said. "Merlin sounds pretty committed to exploring his feelings for Freya. And what's this about a blonde girl at the farmer's market?"

He had to think a moment to remember her name. "Kylie. No, Kayla. She was pretty, but I couldn't talk to her, you know?"

"Mm. Someday, Arthur. You've got to believe that someday you'll be free all the way, and not have to worry about saying the wrong thing to the wrong person-"

"It wasn't that, really," he said. "It was more… if I told her the truth. Where I was and what I was doing for the last twenty years. What she'd think, then." He could imagine the bright blue eyes shadowed, the dimpled smile slipping. A quick excuse and a single look back. And not just Kylie – er, Kayla – but any given girl.

"Oh, I see," Gwen said, and he knew she did. "It's probably the same for anyone with significant trauma in their past. When to tell and how much to say, and what the reaction might be… I think Merlin was overly cautious with girls because of his secret – you should definitely talk to him about it, he'd understand."

Yeah, he would. "But Freya knows about him, right?"

"She does – and Merlin was optimistic about her reaction. That's important. A good start to their relationship."

Optimistic. She'd written him that it meant, you always tried to see the best in people and situations.

"Have you got to work tomorrow?" he asked. "I was going to get up early to run a couple miles before breakfast – Gaius wanted to do some highway driving… unless he's changed his mind."

"And you don't want him to change his mind," she guessed. "You could try… cleaning up whatever mess he's made. Maybe make toast and honey and only half a cup of coffee. Juice or water would be better, and plenty of it. Half a dose of painkillers – and a nap later in the day, if you can get him to."

"He likes to recline his chair in the living room and close his eyes after lunch," Arthur said.

"Good. That'll help. And he'll see how you feel about what happened, and probably it'll be easier for him to apologize, too. And then, you'll find, you'll be even better friends for having had this fight."

"That's really how it works?" Arthur said dubiously.

"As long as you both want to move past it and stay friends," she said. "If the relationship means more than your pride."

Arthur didn't think he had much pride. But maybe she was right and Gaius did.

"And you should call and tease Merlin about his date, tomorrow," she added. "He's still out. I bet you can hear him blush over the phone."

"Yeah," he said. Merlin was someone who often let his emotions out of whatever little white room he kept them in, inside. And they were still always in his control. He should probably learn how Merlin did that. "Hey. Thanks for listening."

"You too. I'm really glad you called." She sounded like she meant it. "I can't imagine how hard and confusing life must be for you, sometimes – but you're really doing an amazing job. And if I can help by listening, you can call in the middle of the night if you want to."

"I just about did," he pointed out.

"Well, then, you better go get some sleep. Insomnia straightened out?"

"Yeah," he said again. And tried a joke, "I know this really smart nurse…"

She laughed again, a low breathy sound that brought a smile to his face. "Flatterer."

" 'Night, Gwen," he said.

"Goodnight, Arthur."

He waited til he heard the click and the tone that signaled the end of the call before he added softly, "Miss you."

* * *

(Farmhouse to City, Nov.13)

 _Dear Merlin,_

 _Gaius and I were studying some histury this week. Because of Thanksgiving. How they were thankfull for theyr freedom, and for having frends that helped them survive in theyr new land. To be able to get theyr own food and make theyr own lives. Self-govurment, right?_

 _So I wanted to write you a speshul letter for Thanksgiving, even thoe weve ben talking on the phone more offen. I wanted to write you how glad I am that yor my frend. That you helped me win freedom, and evrything that came after. That you lissen and encurage me._

 _Gaius, too. And Gwen. And Gwaine. But mostly you, Merlin._

 _Weve had our first snowfall. The naybor up the rode has a plow on the front of a truck, we made a deel that I could use it this winter, earn some mony on my own, plowing snow off peeples driveways. Now that my drivers license isnt just a card._

 _And I cant wate for Chrismiss and New Year's. Say hi to Freya. And Gwaine, and tell him thanks for the magazine, but those arnt the sort of girls I want. And Gaius didnt think it was funny._

 _Your friend,_

 _AJ_

…..*…..

 _Dear Gwen,_

 _Did you like histury when you were in school? Weve ben reading about Thanksgiving. And Pocahontas (I had to check how to spell that), and how she helped save John Smiths life. I thought she marryd him, but she didnt. She marryd the other John._

 _Enyway, I wanted to write you a Thanksgiving letter and tell you how glad I am that your my frend. Even thoe you cant keep my letter like I keep yors. It makes me smile to hear yor voice on the phone. It makes me feel like evrythings ok, and it will be ok even if things happen. I hope I can make you feel good for talking to me, to._

 _I hope you have a good Thanksgiving. I miss you, but Im looking forward to New Year's._

 _AJ_

* * *

(City to Farmhouse, Nov.24)

 _Dear AJ,_

 _I was just starting to think about the things I was thankful for this year too, when we got your letter. My family, first of all – and the chances I've gotten to see my father, this year. My friends – the ones who've really been there for me when I needed it. And Freya, who's my friend in a new and very special way._

 _I'm really glad that I was able to be a friend to you. Gwen told me once, months ago, that my friend Will, the one who died, didn't let me be his friend. Didn't let me help him and encourage him and be there for him – and so what happened to him, wasn't my fault. I don't know, I still feel like there was more I could have done._

 _But it means a lot to me to know that you trusted me to help you. And I'm so proud of you – we're proud of you, and you should be proud of yourself, for what you've made of your life so far, and you've only just started._

 _And just so you know, it wasn't all, me giving to you. Your friendship gave me a sense of purpose again after Will's death. And it was because of you that I met Freya – so, thanks very much for that. I mean it. And, if it doesn't sound too ridiculous, you've kind of been an inspiration. That you didn't give up, ever, you kept trying and working and learning. That you took the risk of trusting people and making friends._

 _Anyway. No snow in the city yet. Just rain and sleet. I'm looking forward to the end of the year holidays, too – I have no idea how to handle a snowplow, even one mounted on a pickup, so you'll have something to teach me, then._

 _Sorry about Gwaine. He means well, but he can be inappropriate. If you didn't like his magazine, you probably have very good taste in girls._

 _Happy Thanksgiving, my friend._

 _Merlin_

…..*…..

 _Dear AJ,_

 _I did love history when I was in school! It always seemed to me to be second-best to Reading class, which was my favorite. Stories about different people in different times – and I did remember that Pocahontas married the other John. I always wondered why, since their peoples were so different – there seems to be so much meaning between the lines of the stories written in history books, doesn't there? I'm looking forward to talking about the books you've read when we come at New Year's. Fingers crossed that the weather will cooperate! (I wonder how much control Merlin might have over the weather, though…)_

 _It's a good time to think about what you're thankful for, though, isn't it? I have so many things it's hard to count… My family, for starters. My dad – my new mom, my new brother. New friends that I've met this year – and you. You have such a refreshing view on so many things, I always smile to talk to you, too. It does make me feel better, like I can face another day and try again. Like I am doing good, at the hospital, even if things sometimes go wrong._

 _I hope you and Gaius have a good Thanksgiving. I hope he made a whole turkey with stuffing and everything, even pie from the bakery section in the grocery store. If he doesn't, I'll bring you pie when we come. It's the least a girl can do._

 _Miss you too!_

 _Gwen_


	11. New Years

**Chapter 11: New Years**

By midmorning Arthur had cleared a patch of driveway in front of the attached garage approximately ten paces square, shoveling snow.

It was bright and crisp, sunshine sparkling on the fresh all-night snow. Gaius said five inches, and Arthur was willing to take his word for it. It felt like five inches, packing lightly in the shovel without being heavy and slushy. He might have made tracks for the neighbor and his plow-equipped pickup, except they were expecting company this morning.

Company. And Arthur could admit to himself – reluctantly – that he was outside shoveling because of the excited anticipation of seeing them. So, to expend some energy and keep an eye out for first sight of Merlin's pickup; the town plow had come a block down, and with the sun out, the rest of the snow on the road was melting and drying nicely. Should be a smooth, safe, fast drive.

Otherwise, there wasn't much to do. No animals to tend, no other outdoor work. And Gaius might be good company when he relaxed in his recliner in front of the tv in the evening, but otherwise seemed to view each passing moment as an opportunity to impart knowledge.

That sounded a bit ungrateful, in his head. Of course he was indebted to the old man for teaching him so much, and of course he was curious about _everything_ , but they were rarely simply companions.

Maybe it was the gap in their ages. Or life experience. In any case-

Movement in the corner of his eye and a growl of sound rolled across the snow-covered yard. He straightened, knuckling the small of his back under his coat and resting the shovel head-first into the drift he'd built, to watch Merlin slow the truck and turn into the driveway.

Arthur felt his grin stretch the chilled skin of his face. And there was Gwen in the passenger side, waving. Arthur pushed his cap back a little on his head with his glove, and waved back, stepping out of the way of Merlin parking the vehicle.

The engine cut, and Merlin was out the door without bothering to close it behind him, keys still in his hand – grinning ear to ear.

"Hey!" Arthur said happily. "How was the – drive?" He said _drive_ after Merlin had already flung long arms around him, squeezing him fast but tight.

"It was fine," Merlin answered, stepping back but keeping two fistfuls of the front of Arthur's coat. "Pretty clear once we were out of the city. What about you, then?" He gave Arthur a shake, then released him.

"Working hard," Arthur said, reminding him of one of their letter-jokes.

And Gwen was out of the pickup cab – more carefully, closing the door behind her. Curls escaping the loose band at the back of her neck, dark eyes sparkling and cheeks bunched with a smile that sent warmth down the inside of his chest like a swallow of hot chocolate.

"Hi, Arthur," she said.

"Missed you," he told her, and she answered with a pleased little chuckle.

"I brought pie," she said, taking mittens out of her pockets. Then flipping the gray jersey hood of her plaid coat over her curls.

"Good. We're having ham… one of Gaius' hogs."

"I'll carry our stuff in," Merlin offered, turning back to the truck, to re-emerge with one bag in each hand, closing the door with a hip. "You gonna stay out here much longer?"

Gwen didn't move for the door. "Not too long."

"All right. I'll see if Gaius has hot chocolate mix."

Arthur held the door for Merlin to enter – with a nod of thanks – but lingered in the brilliant cold. It felt good after the exercise of shoveling. The engine of Merlin's pickup ticked, cooling.

"I love the snow in the country," Gwen told him, as if in explanation. "What little we see in the city is dirty slush, and always in the way."

"In that case," Arthur said. "I have something to show you."

Out past the barn to the hay field, shorn as his head had once been, blanketed in winter white and marred only by the delicate criss-cross of tracks – rabbit and deer, that he could identify. Gwen tramped after him.

"So what did you think of the books?" she asked.

The discussion of Wind in the Willows brought them to the opening in the fence-row, where she stopped and gasped and marveled to his heart's content. Then, leaning on the weathered timbers and squinting at the sun-glare on white, they discussed Tom Sawyer – but Robin Hood was interrupted by the explosion of snow against the back of Arthur's wool cap.

"Hey!" he said, startled, turning to see Merlin scooping up a handful of snow.

"Oh, no he didn't," Gwen declared, crouching down by the fencepost. "Cover me, and I'll build you an arsenal."

"What?" Arthur said – and had to duck so Merlin's next snowball wouldn't hit him in the face, only bury itself mildly in the field drifts.

And then it was on - Arthur's first snowball fight.

Merlin was fast, at throwing and at dodging, and Arthur could see right away that he and Gwen weren't going to win without a change in tactics. She was laughing too hard to aim straight, so he sacrificed himself in a full-frontal assault. Merlin saw him coming, but didn't retreat – instead taking a few steps forward and scooping up an armful of snow-

Which all washed blindly into Arthur's face as he tackled his friend full tilt – snow up his nose, in his ears, down his collar – and Merlin grunting at the impact with the ground beneath him.

Arthur didn't need to see to take advantage of his position, scraping snow into Merlin's face, feeling him squirm and hearing him whoop – but the minute he blinked clear, Merlin scrabbled more snow up into his face, laughing as it cascaded down on himself, also. Arthur squinted one eye and yanked Merlin's collar away from his neck, shoveling snow down with his glove.

"Surrender!" he demanded, gasping for breath against the instinct to join in the laughter.

Merlin yelped, thrashing in the snow beneath him. "Never! Get off me, you big oaf!"

"We can call it a tie," Gwen proposed, between fits of giggles.

Arthur shook his head free of snow and his cap, to see her on her knees near them, catching tears of amusement on the knuckles of her gloves. Merlin stilled for a moment, voicing his exhalation – " _Aaaah_ …" - and Arthur rolled off his knees to his back beside Merlin in the snow.

Merlin tossed one last handful of powdery white over the front of Arthur's coat, and said between panting-laughing breaths, "Well fought."

"I'm freezing," Gwen declared.

"I'm soaked," Merlin added, but didn't move to rise.

Arthur felt the cold wet seeping through his clothes, too, looking up into the bare snow-lined branches of the trees lining the hay-field. And said honestly, "I'm perfectly happy."

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

"Gaius!" Merlin hollered into the warmth of the farmhouse, lugging his bag and Gwen's up the stairs. Leave them in the kitchen for now, and decide later whether to take two of the guest rooms upstairs and share the bathroom with Gwen, or just camp out on the couch in the basement, and share with Arthur.

"Merlin," Gaius greeted him, coming in from the formal dining room with a fat black bottle and a fistful of tiny square glasses.

"I was thinking hot chocolate," Merlin said, dropping the bags, "but blackberry brandy is definitely better."

"How was the drive?" Gaius asked, setting the glassware down and uncorking the bottle.

"Fine. Mostly clear – no ice, no worries. How are things here?" They'd already tiptoed around the explosion on Halloween in phone conversation; Merlin was content to leave it between the two other men, as long as it was handled to the satisfaction of each.

"Good," Gaius pronounced, after a moment, his attention still on the old bottle of dark purple-red liquid, and the portion-cups. "He's intelligent. Only needs pointing in the right direction and the occasional explanation. Otherwise, he's virtually teaching himself."

"Hm." Merlin leaned over his elbows on the counter, watching Arthur and Gwen tramp through the snow across the yard toward the hay field. "What about development that's not educational?"

"I'm not a professional, Merlin," Gaius said sternly.

"Me neither. I doubt he'd talk to one anyway, even if we could find someone we trust," Merlin answered.

"It does seem to me that he's been allowing himself to feel and express more feelings," Gaius told him, ducking to watch out the window beside Merlin, as the two bundled figures disappeared around the corner of the barn. "When you first brought him, he wouldn't express his own opinion or preference. Now he'll admit to likes and dislikes."

Moving through individuality, something like a teenager did, Merlin thought. "So that's going well, or not very? He's been moody or erratic emotionally?"

"No, quite the contrary. He seems very cautious about it. Perhaps he's applying that curiosity we've talked about before, to himself. On the whole, far more positive in his outlook, than negative. He doesn't wallow, by any means."

"Does he hate his father?" Merlin asked. It was kind of a fork-in-the-road question for what he could see of the future. _Yes_ would lead them one way, while _No_ might open up more possibilities.

"I think he feels a lot of regret for what he should have had, all those years," Gaius said. "But I also think that he accepts he can't change anything. He doesn't seem to have strong feelings of dislike toward those who were responsible – perhaps because neither the woman doctor nor his father ever made a personal connection with him, if you see what I mean. I would say he views them distantly, and dispassionately."

Okay… "Is he content here?" Merlin said.

Gaius finished pouring the portions of brandy, before looking at him from under bushy eyebrows. "Temporarily. He needs social interaction with his own age group – but his past isolates him from forming new attachments here, with limited options."

And that sort of isolation kept him safe, for now. "What about ambition?"

Gaius straightened, pushing the cork back into place and gazing out the window. "Yes. It's there, though rather mild yet. He does envision life on his own, someday – somewhere that's not here. We've talked about things like potential employment, and the schooling necessary for various careers. We've discussed rent and bills, budgeting and savings and so on. I should say within this year, he'll be ready to sit the GED and move toward self-sufficiency. He's capable right now of holding a minimum-wage job, except for the circumstances requiring him to make up his education."

"I wonder if he'd be happy being James A. Meyner the rest of his life," Merlin mused. Then slapped his palms lightly on the counter. "Do I owe you anything for him?"

"Not at all," Gaius informed him. "Between the farmers' market and the outdoor chores and the snow-plowing, he's probably got a cash roll in his sock drawer downstairs already. Honestly, Merlin, I'll be sorry to see him go, when he's ready. Proud, though."

"Me, too." Merlin was just pleased that Arthur was going to be ready for independence someday soon – that he wasn't so damaged as to be incapable of living his own life. He'd made a significant start, already. "I'll go see what they're up to."

Gaius made an agreeable noise. "Don't hurry back. More brandy for me…"

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

It was a totally different dynamic, having Gwen and Merlin in the farmhouse. Arthur thought he hadn't really realized, when they'd first come; maybe he'd been overwhelmed by so much, so soon after leaving his spartan existence at the facility.

Merlin teased Gaius, and Arthur saw a whole other side to his crotchety old tutor. Gwen twinkled, and the old man doted fondly – and watching his two younger friends together made him wish, suddenly and surprisingly, that he had a sister, too.

They stuffed themselves at a candlelit table, and had seconds of Gaius' hoarded blackberry brandy. The clearing and cleaning of dishes was uproarious hilarity – Merlin blinking soapsuds out of his eyelashes after Gwen blew a sneaky handful at his face.

Dessert was Gwen's apple pie and home-churned ice cream – and they sat in the kitchen taking turns teaching Arthur four-handed card games. Eucre and Hearts. Poker and Golf.

And the clock slowly ticked around toward midnight. Gwen gathered the dessert dishes and Gaius went to find a tv channel showing the ball in Times Square. Merlin nudged Gwen away from the sink and she smiled at Arthur, passing him to join Gaius in the living room. Arthur halved the deck of cards and tapped each side straight against the other, preparing to practice his shuffling.

"So tomorrow begins a new year," Merlin said, swishing water around the plates in the sink, his eyes on his work. "I often wonder, on this night, what the new year will bring."

"Balance the bad with the good," Arthur repeated his friend's advice, letting the cards slip carefully past his thumbs, folding each half-stack into the other. "And don't give up."

Merlin hummed, rinsing a dish and placing it on the other side of the sink. "Sometimes I take a minute to think about the old year, too, if there were things I left undone. Or things I need to put behind me."

Arthur tapped the cards straight against the table, then paused, watching Merlin. His friend rinsed another plate, then glanced up, catching his eye. Arthur raised his brows expectantly; Merlin let out a sigh, and looked back into the sink, reaching to pull the plug. Then he wiped his hands on a towel, tossed it over his shoulder, and leaned one hip against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Gwaine has been keeping an eye on… things, at our end," he said. "And there are two developments – two people I want to talk to you about."

Arthur sat back in his chair, beginning to feel a chill. Beginning to feel his circulatory system respond to his perception of threat. At once he wanted to do his best to help – and refuse to think about his past or answer at all.

"Your uncle is in the city," Merlin told him.

Arthur knew the name but refused to allow it into his thoughts. Remembered the eyes – the man who'd never been friendly, who had always _watched_ him, so that he didn't want to look back, but hid his face against his mother. And heaven forbid being left alone with him.

"According to all we've found, your uncle and father were business partners," Merlin continued slowly. "And right around the time you probably demonstrated your connection to the Veil, they had a significant falling out. Your uncle bought out your father, which presumably gave him the capital to begin the Penned Dragon, and they went their separate ways."

It was easier to think about it in these distant, impersonal terms. "That sounds right," Arthur managed. "I don't know what they fought about, though."

Merlin grunted and mused, "Too bad… It seems your father has been re-investing with your uncle, though. Some bridges got mended, anyway."

"What does it have to do with me?" Arthur asked.

"Can't tell yet. If anything at all."

"Maybe he's given up on me, and gone back to making money other ways," Arthur offered.

Merlin gave him a half-smile. "Here's hoping. The other thing – the more worrying thing – is that the cash he invested with your uncle came from the sale of the Penned Dragon facility. It's been closed since you left, and that popularly ascribed to a series of constructional issues. Evidently he sold it to Dr. Morgause – who hasn't made any structural repairs or changes."

"They wouldn't need to, though," Arthur said, frowning, "because that was just an excuse, and not true."

"Yeah." Merlin shifted thoughtfully in his place leaning against the counter, and gazed into the dark doorway leading to the formal dining room. "There hasn't been even a hint of the truth, though – which means your father's previous employees were well-paid or thoroughly intimidated. Or both."

"Is that good?" Arthur asked.

"For now, probably. I'm more concerned with what Dr. Morgause thinks she's going to get out of that building."

"Are the crystals worth anything?" Arthur suggested.

"Probably not much, without you." Merlin shifted again, and moved his eyes to Arthur's face without turning his head. "We still don't think anyone has any idea what actually happened the night you disappeared from there. But we were prompted to do a little more digging… did you know Dr. Morgause had a younger sister? One who died?"

Arthur took a moment to shuffle his memories. That would have stuck with him, he thought, Dr. Morgause in one of the reclining chairs, in one of the rooms. "No… I don't think she ever asked me to call a spirit for her. I would have remembered."

Merlin grimaced. "I don't like that. It's odd. Gwaine found out this younger sister had been attacked in an alley outside her favorite college bar. Raped and stabbed. You'd think, with you and that facility at her disposal for twenty years, she would have at least once…"

"Talked to her. Asked who did it," Arthur finished.

"The police never even arrested anyone," Merlin added. "That was a matter of weeks before she went to work with your dad."

"Huh," Arthur said. He couldn't force his brain to make sense of it – because of the late hour, or the pleasant effects of the alcohol. But maybe it didn't matter anyway."

"Boys!" Gaius called from the living room. "It's time!"

Merlin, already on his feet, tossed down the towel by Arthur's deck of cards, and led the way down the hall to the living room. He heard Gwen giggle and exclaim – and as they entered the room, Merlin reached sideways to flick off the lights.

Gaius and Gwen were holding long slender sticks that sparked and fizzled and lit a small area brightly – and the rest of the room with a dim glow. People on the tv were chanting a countdown – _10-9-8_! – and Gwen handed Merlin a stick, as Gaius held one out for Arthur.

Fireworks, indoors? It was mesmerizing; he couldn't help waving it a bit to see the line of light it drew for a lingering moment in the air.

 _5-4-3-2-1-_

The other three chorused with the televised crowd, "Happy New Year!"

And then there was music, a cheerful-determined tune. " _Should all acquaintance be forgot-_ "

Gaius reached an arm over Arthur's shoulder, careful of the sparklers they both held, to pat him on the back. Over the old man's shoulder he watched Merlin squeeze his arms around Gwen's ribs, lifting her into the air. She squeaked, but kissed both of her stepbrother's cheeks enthusiastically, as he returned the salute.

" _And never brought to mind_ …"

They disengaged, and Merlin turned to Arthur, holding out his right hand. Arthur hesitantly extended his own, aware of Gwen embracing Gaius, kissing his wrinkled cheeks too. Merlin clasped his hand, not like they were meeting for the first time, but upright between them, almost hugging Arthur's forearm. Sparks danced in the depths of his eyes, and his grin was wide and fierce.

"Happy _New Year_ , Arthur."

" _We'll take a cup of kindness yet_ …"

Then Merlin was releasing him, to turn and slap Gaius' back over his shoulder-

And Gwen was in front of Arthur. Inches away, rising on tiptoes with a smile, and those fireworks lights fizzing and glowing in her dark eyes. He froze, hardly daring to breathe in his uncertainty; she reached up to touch his cheek and coax him into bending slightly.

He did, with a stiff jerk. And now he could smell her, lightly lavender like her scrubs – _and his cheek against her thigh as he lay in her lap_ – and her lips pressed against his face.

Everything slowed. Single sparks leaped leisurely, the song stretched muted, Gaius and Merlin were laughing without sound, and could go on expressing joy and mirth in life, in company, forever.

He turned slightly, so the side of his mouth brushed her smooth round cheek, and the contact burned like the first swallow of blackberry brandy.

And then the moment was over and she was withdrawing like nothing had happened. Gaius was turning off the tv and Merlin taking the sparkle-sticks-

"Here, let me have that before it starts singeing your hand," he said to Arthur. "I'll put them out in the snow."

On feet that felt light and unsteady, Arthur followed Gaius and Gwen after Merlin down the hall. One door was Gaius' bedroom and another hid the stair to the second-floor bedrooms.

"Good night," they all said, smiling – though Arthur couldn't feel it and didn't know if he'd made a sound, but the other two didn't act like they thought anything was wrong with him.

Happy new feelings? he wondered.

The doors closed and he stood for a minute in the semi-dark – til his attention was caught out the kitchen window toward the shoveled driveway. Merlin and the sparklers. Merlin took three or four running steps, and hurled the sticks skyward in a handful. Whether or not they were designed so, or whether Merlin pushed something magic, the sparklers soared – and exploded brilliantly, sizzling out one by one.

And he heard Merlin yell across the midnight snow, " _Happy New Year_!"

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

"Maybe they can come to the city for a visit," Gwen said to Merlin, turning to settle down in the passenger seat of the pickup, after waving goodbye to Gaius and Arthur in the driveway.

Merlin glanced back in the side mirror as he turned onto the road, beginning to accelerate into town toward the main highway. "I don't know," he hedged. "I'd hate to relax too soon and have something _happen_."

Gwen made a mournful noise. "Well, at least the country agrees with him. He's put on more muscle than you have-"

"Hey!" Merlin protested – but cheerfully, since he suspected it was true, and was pleased to see Arthur healthy and strong and active.

"And his hair has grown nicely, too, no wonder the blonde at the farmers' market was interested, he is very… attractive."

Merlin glanced aside at Gwen, but she affected not to notice, so he looked past her to check the traffic on the main road before turning out.

"And he's getting along okay with Gaius," she went on. "I was a little worried after Halloween, but I guess they patched that up…"

"Breakfast in bed will do that," Merlin murmured, and anticipated her whack of censure on his shoulder.

"It wasn't _breakfast in bed_ ," she contradicted, with an edge of sarcasm. "But he's really learning a lot, too, isn't he? Though I suppose a lot of elementary school is repetitive and slow, to make sure you've learned what you're supposed to…"

"Gaius thinks he could be ready for the GED sometime this year," Merlin added.

She shuffled a degree or two sideways in her seat toward facing him. "We talked about the books I sent – I guess maybe I should look at choosing half a dozen more, maybe – and what he liked about them, and why. Do you know what he said?"

"I'm sure you'll tell me," Merlin said, only slightly sardonic. It was a long drive, and Gwen was a good conversationalist, normally.

"He liked Wind in the Willows, at the beginning when Mole met Rat. Because Mole was shy, and used to staying at home in his hole by himself, but Rat was so smart about the world, and confident, and just kind of carried Mole along into friendship. And then Mole got to see so much more and experience all these adventures and meet the new animals – Merlin, I see by your smile that you're thinking you know exactly why he liked that part so well."

"I'm not smiling," Merlin objected, feeling his grin stretch a bit more. "What did he say about the end, then? When they storm Toad's house to retake it from the bad animals?"

"Oh, we didn't talk about that part…" After a moment she added more pensively, "He said he didn't like Tom Sawyer much, but I didn't want to push him to say why, if he didn't offer a reason. But I can guess that, too."

Merlin hummed understanding. Tom Sawyer was like the childhood everyone wished they had. And for Arthur who hadn't really had any childhood to be content with, he might reject that idyllic quality of Mark Twain with resentment, subconsciously.

"Except the parts with Becky," Gwen said.

Merlin turned his head to look at her, as long as he safely could, driving – but she barely noticed, far away in her thoughts as well.

"What about Robin Hood, then?" he asked. "You said the language tended to be a bit archaic, and maybe hard for a beginning reader?"

"I think he muddled through," she said absently. "There were illustrations. He said he liked that even though Robin Hood was the leader, he wasn't the best at everything. He said he liked how, when Robin lost a fight to a stranger, he laughed and made the stranger join his band. And rescued his friends rather than let them be executed. And was disrespectful to the rich pompous cleric, but completely loyal to his king."

"How long did you have to talk about it?" Merlin teased.

"He said he's read it more than once," she answered. "And, I'm putting words in his mouth. He's easy to talk to – he seems very generous, and asks for so little in return… I wonder if he might like Tolkien…"

Merlin rolled his eyes and set the cruise control for his truck.

* * *

(Farmhouse to City, Apr.7)

 _Dear Merlin,_

 _Gaius says its spring fever, and I should wait a few weeks to see if I change my mind. But I've been thinking about something ever since New Year's, when we talked about my uncle and Dr. Moregoes. (I don't know how to spell her name, and I didn't want to ask Gaius.)_

 _Anyway, my idea is this. What if I write my father a letter?_

 _Okay, I have thought it through. I can send it to you and you can mail it from somewhere in the city, and maybe if he wants to respond, we work out a public place where he can leave it, and you can pick it up once you know it's safe._

 _I just feel like I want to tell him, I know what he did to me, and I know why he did it, even though it was wrong. And I'm not going back to that place or any place like it, and I'm not going to go into that business for myself like a gipsy fortune-teller. And I'm not going to go public, to the news or to the police. That I only want to be left alone._

 _And maybe then, we can say for once and for all, if he has given up on getting me back, or not._

 _Gaius thinks I should just leave it alone, focus on my studies and all the work there is to do around here, get a GED and start a new life under the name on my drivers license. We're not planting squash, but we are planting just about everything else, and we've got some young animals again – a calf and a pair of shoats and a crateful of pullets._

 _But he also says, its still too risky to go to the city for a visit. Because someone might recognize me from that wanted poster last year, and they might still be using city cameras to find me. But I think, if I can persuade my father to just stop… it's a worth a try._

 _At least I'd like to hear what you think. And maybe Gwaine, too._

 _I was glad to hear you found that girl that was kidnapped. The Sun-Star did an article, I guess Freya probably showed you – or set you up, maybe. I'm almost as glad to hear you're out with her when I call to talk to Gwen, as I am to have her say, yes he's here just a minute Merlin!_

 _You're coming out for a week soon, right? Or at least a weekend? Gaius says its good barginning to ask for more than you want right away. So, come for a week. Tell Gwen the apple trees are blossoming, and Gaius thinks the barn cat will have a litter soon – and then she'll make you bring her._

 _Say hi to your mom, too. I've talked to her a few minutes, a couple times when I called. She thinks Gwen and I are romantic._

 _Your friend,_

 _AJ_

(City to Farmhouse, Apr. 20)

 _Dear AJ,_

 _Sorry this is a little late, I wanted to take a few days to think about your suggestion – and talk to Gwaine, too._

 _Your idea of the letter exchange seems feasible. But have you thought about the possibility, if your father has given you up and moved on, that he will then reconsider, and try to manipulate you back into a position where he can control you? Gwaine says it can be done with drugs, even if you resist._

 _That being said, you do have a point about the media, if not the police. Freya held the evidence of my story for me, as insurance in case we were caught, that it would go public, as you said, unless your father released us again. And it might be possible to do something similar – to tell your father essentially, leave me alone to live my life unhindered, and nothing of the story ever goes to print. Because otherwise, there might even be criminal charges against your father. A backwards, inside-out kind of threat._

 _Then again, we can't figure what Dr. Morgause is doing with the Penned Dragon, either. All Gwaine found out about her sister is that she was cremated, but not interred anywhere. I wondered if Dr. Morgause might have abilities herself, and she can use the crystals at the facility without you? Just a thought._

 _It's been rainy in the city, which means damp, cold, and muddy. Apple blossoms and kittens sound mighty tempting, with or without Gwen, but I'll keep out of Gaius' garden, I think. My talents lie elsewhere._

 _I wasn't crazy about that article. I mean, talking about talents, you know – and then try to explain to a reporter, how I managed to discover the girl's location when the police couldn't… No, it was more like, Freya bragged that she knew the hero, when the story hit that the missing girl was found. And then of course the Sun-Star had to do the interview. Freya said she was sorry, she didn't realize – but then she made it up to me. And… 'nuff said on that subject._

 _Gwen's been busy lately at the hospital – with the nicer weather comes more motorcycle accidents – but when that lets up, she'll definitely feel like a break. I wonder if I should bring Freya this time? But maybe it's too soon for us to go on an overnight trip together, even if she does room with Gwen while we're there. Oh, well – anyway we'll look for a date. And think some more on the idea of contacting your father._

 _Your friend,_

 _Merlin_

(Farmhouse to City, Apr.27)

 _Dear Merlin,_

 _Pretty busy lately – but so are you, so I'm going to write instead of call, this time._

 _I don't have any idea if Dr. Morgause has abilities. I don't remember any indication of that, and twenty years is a long time to keep it hidden, unless she had some agreement with my father. But if she can work the crystals – why does she not re-open the Penned Dragon and make a profit?_

 _Also, Gaius said it might be a good idea anyway, for me to write something autobiographical, even as a mental or emotional exercise, whether we use it for insurance or anyone else ever sees it. So I'm going to go ahead with that, just so we have it if we ever need to use it to convince my father to just let me go._

 _Come anytime. Only the garden is muddy, except for the animal pens, but the garden is three-quarters planted already. Gaius swears he won't make you work._

 _Your friend,_

 _AJ_

 **A/N: Next chapter there still some Arwen fluff, but I'm planning to pick the action up again also…**


	12. Spring and Change

**Chapter 12: Spring and Changes**

 _To Whom It May Concern:_

 _When I was six years old, my mother was killed in a car accident. I was told this fact by one of the house staff, but I didn't believe it, not right away._

 _Not until that night. I refused to be put to bed without my mother there, so they left me alone, but she didn't come and finally I cried myself to sleep._

 _When I woke, it wasn't morning, it was still dark. But I could dimly see a great gray curtain in the middle of my room, like a solid shadow, moving as if there was a breeze. I don't remember ever feeling fear to see it, even when I realized what it was, and that no one else could. It reminded me of my mother's nightgown, and the way she came to comfort me when I was sick in the night, or had a bad dream. I called out her name._

 _And the curtain parted, and she came to me, and I was comforted._

 _The next morning, my father paid me little attention until I told him about my mother and the curtain. But he didn't believe it, not right away._

 _Not until I called for her again, and saw the curtain appear, and my mother returned, and he saw her too._

Merlin let the sheaf of papers he held in his hand sink to the top of Gaius' kitchen table next to his nearly-empty coffee cup, blinking to see the midmorning sun illuminating the wood of the cabinets and furniture and flooring. He had to clear his throat before he could utter a single word.

"Wow."

Gaius, leaning on the counter with his second cup of coffee wafting aromatic steam in his hands, nodded. "It goes on like that, you'll see. Powerful, compelling – and yet heartbreakingly simple. The whole story – his mother's spirit an unwilling constant companion, her advice to let go, his agreement not to call her back. His father's fury and pleading – a period of nearly complete neglect – then being taken to the new facility, and strapped in."

"The whole story," Merlin repeated, fingering the pages. Too thick a stack for a single staple. "Did Gwen read this?"

"No. She wanted to see specifically if it was all right with Arthur, first, since he left those pages for you this morning." Gaius paused. "He asked me, if he should include a list of the employees that cared for him and ran the program, over the years."

Merlin grimaced – that might be quite a long list, over the course of twenty years, and all might be potentially charged with various crimes. And all might potentially want to prevent Arthur giving them away, if they knew he could identify them. As if Arthur needed more enemies.

"He said, should he make a list of clients who came, and the spirits they saw."

"Arthur remembers that?" He inhaled, his spine straightening in reaction to the implications of that.

Gaius set his coffee cup down deliberately on the counter. "Not all, probably, there would have been too many, over the years. But there were those who caught his attention… Names I recognized, and was startled to hear."

"I don't want to know," Merlin said immediately.

"No," Gaius agreed gravely. "My advice is that he, and both of us, treat all those middle years, all those names, as forgotten. Let him describe his captivity in purely physical terms, and-"

"What does he say about me, and his escape?" Merlin asked, flipping pages again to the end.

"He wakes from a dream to see a figure in his room, offering freedom, which he chooses."

Merlin scanned the second-to-the-last page, his eyes catching midway down.

 _I found myself standing barefoot on the sidewalk, under the streetlights and the stars. I was taken to a place of shelter and given food and clothing._

 _Later, I was given education and a chance to earn my independence and deserve my freedom. I am twenty-six years old and just beginning to think about what I want to be when I grow up._

 _The possibilities are numerous, and sometimes overwhelming, but I do know this. I want to help people live, as I was helped to live. And none of us can truly do that, holding on to the past._

 _My mother told me, Let me go. My time is over, yours is just begun. Release and acceptance are necessary for healing. A good friend told me, more recently, that sometimes life sucks, but sometimes it doesn't. You balance the bad with the good, and never give up._

 _So that's what I'm going to do._

 _Sincerely, Arthur Flite._

Merlin huffed a laugh that caught in his throat. "He wrote it like a letter."

"Yes, he did. That last page, though, is an actual letter. He told me that he told you, he wanted to contact his father."

Merlin blew out a lungful of air, and didn't pull the back page to the front of the stack to read. "I am undecided," he stated, sitting back in the kitchen chair, "whether that is a good idea, or not."

Gaius grunted, turning his gaze out the kitchen window. "If his father has any idea that he remembers names, clients and spirits, I very much doubt he will simply forget his son and pursue other business interests. And if he cannot re-possess Arthur, he may very well try to see to it that his son will never reveal his secrets."

"You mean kill him," Merlin said bluntly. "Geez, this guy. No, I don't think you're wrong, it's just… then it might be best to let Uther know, he tries anything and it's guaranteed to go public."

"You'll still have to be very careful," Gaius said. "He might think to get ahead of that by threat or bribe, if he knows which organization or individual holds the information. Blackmail would be child's play if he's had people killed in the past – and, once that information hits the media, there will be nothing stopping him taking revenge."

Merlin sighed. "It's enough to make you wonder, no matter what his mom said, wouldn't it be easier to buy Uther off with the promise of a weekly visit with his wife. Half an hour on Sunday afternoons."

Gaius lifted an eyebrow. "I should keep that opinion to yourself, if I were you. That sort of bargain must be Arthur's own idea."

"Yeah." Merlin ruffled the pages again. "Did you read that letter, to his dad?"

"Proofread, rather. He was concerned that there were no errors of spelling or punctuation."

"Though he has gotten much better," Merlin added.

"Indeed. He began the letter with a memory of his early childhood, to prove his identity, then went on to promise his silence in the future in return for his father's renunciation of any claim over him whatsoever."

"That's a good idea," Merlin realized. "I hadn't thought about the fact that Uther might think it was a bid for inheritance."

"There's space at the bottom for him to add the information about a response, after you two get a chance to talk about it," Gaius pointed out. "But, whether the idea is wise or not, the fact remains that as a free adult, Arthur may make his own mistakes. And though we may have a responsibility to protect him as much as we are able to, we don't really have the right to stop him."

Merlin sighed. Yeah, because that was exactly what Uther had done to his son, take away that freedom of choice.

"I s'pose I'll go look for him, then," he said, pushing up from the chair; they'd arrived at the farmhouse pretty late the night before, and so had postponed the discussion. "We've got a lot to talk about."

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

When Arthur woke, Merlin was still facedown in the pillows on the extended hide-a-bed in the main room in the basement, sprawled from one corner to the opposite. Probably the only way he could fit. Arthur inched around the mattress, stubbing his toe on the metal frame – but not waking his friend.

When he mounted the creaking stairs to the kitchen, Gaius was pouring his first cup of coffee.

"Is Gwen still asleep?" he asked, passing Gaius on the way to the fridge.

"I haven't heard her." And they would, Arthur knew; every step in this old farmhouse creaked. "Merlin is still sleeping also?"

"He said he was up past midnight three nights this week, so he was looking forward to sleeping in, especially in the country quiet," Arthur told him, emerging from the fridge with two eggs in the same hand, and bending to open the pot-drawer for Gaius' smallest saucepan.

Putting the eggs in the pot and covering them with water at the sink, he contemplated what it might be like to live Merlin's life. Gaius told him stories, sometimes; he couldn't decide whether it was fascinating or disgusting. Both, maybe, at different times. It sounded quite _free_ , though, to Arthur, to make a living by your wit and skill.

"As long as he doesn't sleep the day through," Gaius said, rummaging for cornflakes, then passing Arthur in the kitchen for milk from the fridge.

And he settled himself in his corner at the kitchen table, with the local paper and the specially-delivered copy of the Sun-Star, while Arthur boiled, peeled, and ate his two eggs and half a glass of juice.

"Anything you want me to bring back?" he asked, rinsing his dishes with soap and propping them in the rack to dry.

"Not right now. Enjoy your run." Gaius always said that with a twinkle that Arthur privately decided, meant he was glad he was too old for such nonsense.

Arthur stretched a bit in front of the garage and jogged a bit before lengthening his stride, down the road into town. It was a good time to think; the air was fresh and clear and he felt well-rested and re-energized in the morning.

If he lived in the city, he might run in the park. Maybe he could get Merlin to run in the park with him. Or maybe he'd take up some self-defensive exercise, like martial arts. Or rock-climbing; he'd seen ads for city gyms, and it looked like fun. Folks out here mainly rode their tractors or their porch swings for exercise. And hunting wasn't a sport, not when it stocked the deep-freeze with venison or pheasant for the winter months.

Still, though. His memories of the city came to him with a sense of challenge. Maybe of potential danger, but definitely a risk-reward tradeoff. The country's version of that was quiet and slow – crops and livestock.

That was Gwen's life, too, he knew from their conversations, both written and verbal. The ER was something of a temporary assignment; she wanted to end up in Pediatrics, someday. But the pace was swift, the challenge obvious, and he knew she felt victorious as well as exhausted after most shifts. It was a vitality that made him smile to hear her voice on the phone, and re-read her letters. She was so _real_ that he found his thoughts drawn to her often – and this her second visit, his eyes as well.

It was a two-mile lap through town, blocks and corners chosen at random, but the sum total remained the same, and his return usually within a five-minute span every day.

Today he found, as he walked the last cooling stretch of road to the farmhouse, that his eyes were drawn to the orchard, at the back of the house but clearly visible from the driven approach. There was no work to be done in the orchard until the fruit ripened enough to be picked, later in the summer, but someone was there.

He watched as he walked, letting the early-morning breeze dry his skin. He lifted his hair with his fingers – and then his shirt for a moment – and then he recognized Gwen. Without stopping to think, his feet left the road, leaping the thistles in the ditch, to enter the six-tree orchard from around the house.

She hadn't noticed him on the road; she was relaxed on a little rise beneath the second to the last tree, her legs extended and crossed, her weight rested on her elbows. Jeans and a dark blue t-shirt with a neckline that dipped to a point rather than just circling round her collarbones. She twisted her head around to look over and up at him as he joined her from behind, looking out toward the hayfield, the line of distant evergreens and the few family homesteads collected on the horizon.

"Morning," he said, grinning down at her.

"Oh, you make me feel lazy," she moaned, flipping one hand at him in an inexplicable gesture.

"What?"

"Already jogging this morning. At least have the decency to sit down and act tired."

He tried to pull his smile back as he complied, leaning forward over bent knees, within arm's reach next to her. "You slept well?" he inquired solicitously.

"Mm. I slept _in_." She dropped from her elbows, reaching to stretch her bare arms over her head. Her toes were pointed in her tennis shoes and there were bits of grass in her hair and he couldn't help looking at the rest of her in-between. She looked different, somehow, lying in the grass than she did standing up and chatting in Gaius' kitchen. "It's so quiet out here," she added.

"Merlin said the same thing," he offered.

"The lazy bum. No, I know he's earned an extra couple of hours of sleep." She added, "In my bedroom at home, I'm always running a little fan for background noise, to cover the city. And out here, it's…"

Just birdsong. Yeah. He twisted to face her, letting his legs rest down on the grass and putting down a hand for balance. "Gaius says it takes a while to unwind from the city, and that a long weekend isn't long enough to do it properly."

She smiled, her cheeks bunching and her teeth flashing. "Well, Gaius would know," she said archly. "But Gaius is also _old_ … Yes, I like an occasional break, but I'm nowhere near ready to retire to the country."

A certain restlessness rose in him, to deny that was what he'd done. To return to the city and feel what his friends felt, the challenge of living life. But to do that without endangering them, he had to confront his father, not just avoid him.

"Tell me about your week," he invited.

She relaxed her arms, curling slightly and pillowing her head on one. "This week wasn't so bad. It was last week that was the nightmare."

"Yeah, you said…" He reached to pluck a couple of the blades of grass from her hair, careful so he didn't pull any strands too hard. "But you didn't explain why."

"Well, there's this one woman, who's basically a hypochondriac – that's someone who imagines they have diseases and things, when they don't – she's in the ER at least once a week convinced that she's dying of something." He dropped down to his elbow and Gwen reached with her free hand to touch and toy with his fingers. "But she's a single mom, she's got a daughter, and last week she decided her daughter must be dying from something… It's a mess. One of these days she's going to OD on something – or worse, give her daughter an overdose on medication she doesn't need…"

Gwen sighed out her frustration, then smiled up at Arthur.

"I can't think," he said slowly, trying to absorb every inch of her, every second and scent and breeze, into making this memory, "whether parenting is harder than it looks, or easier than some people try to make it."

"Merlin's mom makes it look easy," she commented, her eyes roving his face. "But then, aside from his magic, or maybe because of it, he tried to make it easy for her, too."

She threaded her fingers through his, then pushed them straight to measure, his against hers, palm to palm; he let his gaze caress the curve of her cheek. Peripheral vision suggested he go further – all the way to her toes, and back again slowly! – but he didn't want to make her uncomfortable, if she noticed. He didn't want to be rude.

"Were you an easy kid?" he asked softly.

"Probably not as a daughter for a single father," she answered. Hesitated, then ventured, "I wonder, what kind of kid you might have been…"

"I suppose when I have my own," he said lightly, "we can guess."

"You've thought about having kids?" she asked curiously.

That was the future, which all depended on winning complete freedom from his father. He shrugged one shoulder and said, "Someday…"

And found himself wondering what Gwen's children might be like.

Then forgot totally about kids at all, looking into her eyes. Dark and deep, and a shimmer of morning sunlight that reminded him of New Year's and sparks and her lips-

He ducked his head without thinking - and froze at the last second, meeting her eyes with the question. _Okay, or not? You want to? you want me to?_

She lifted her chin, and glanced down at his lips, quickly moistening her own, and he began to worry if he smelled sweaty or did something wrong-

Then instinct took over, and he lowered his lips to hers.

Oh, they were soft. And warm, and moved with his – responding, leading, waiting. He wanted more, and found his hand tangling in the curls behind her ear. He tested the texture of her full lower lip with his tongue, and she made a noise that was approval and encouragement, and he leaned his body down to meet hers.

She arched to connect with him, and deepened the kiss.

A hint of cream-coffee and maybe maple from breakfast syrup - her taste was rich and heated. He groaned into her mouth as tension fired and twisted in his belly – pleasantly, but with a sense of direction. This feeling was supposed to progress, to grow, to – overwhelm.

Breathless and blind, he pulled back just far enough to catch his breath. He felt her panting also – exhalation on his face, inhalation against his ribs. Her hands were rumpling his shirt lazily, up and down, branding his skin where she brushed against him.

"Now I understand," he whispered, _keeping_ the moment with his eyes shut.

"What?" She was with him, close as can be, breathing and thinking in unison, hearts beating as one. He was hers and she was his and he wanted to stay that way forever.

"If love is like this," he tried to explain. He'd seen so much in those rooms, heard so many versions, so many times, so much complication and heartbreak. "Why people do crazy things, and get themselves in such trouble."

She laughed into his ear, soft and strong as she clung to him, pressing herself upward to touch him more. "I think that's a compliment?"

"Yeah," he breathed, nuzzling into her neck and ear and the scent of her shampoo. "Oh, yeah."

"But – did you just say you love me?"

There was something in her tone that made him retreat again, opening his eyes this time to search her face. He found surprise there – but not offense.

So he thought, for a moment. From the first moment he met her, caring for him as a stranger sick in a motel room, through all the letters and phone conversations…

"I don't know," he said. "I guess so?"

"You mean, that you said it?" Her gaze was intense; her hands remained on his ribs. "Or that you meant it?"

"Yes?" Was there a difference?

A twig's toss away, someone cleared his throat, and Arthur recognized Merlin. Gwen gasped, startled, and Arthur rolled away so she wouldn't bump heads with him, sitting up. Merlin stepped out from behind the trunk of one of the other trees, his eyes on a stick he was stripping of bark.

"Morning," he said neutrally – to both of them, since he didn't focus on either. "Arthur, when you have a minute… we should talk."

"Okay," he said agreeably, pushing himself up, getting his feet under him to rise. His whole body was thrumming like halfway through his run – curious, interesting, enjoyable. He wondered briefly if Gwen felt the same – and that one thought made him anticipate the possibility of kissing her again. Feeling this way again. "I need a shower, and then there's the morning chores, but… yeah. You read my story, and my letter?"

Merlin's smile was there and gone again, brief but genuine. "Yeah."

"Okay," Arthur repeated, then looked back down at Gwen. "You can read it too, if you want."

She covered her mouth with one hand, but her eyes were shining as she met Arthur's, and nodded.

It felt right. She hadn't really asked much about his past, not about details and feelings, but he wanted her to know, as long as she wanted to know. He wanted her to _understand_ , even though she already did. Maybe that didn't make sense, he thought, striding out of the orchard toward the farmhouse. Maybe he should ask Gaius about it.

"Cup of coffee?" Gaius called down, as he entered the house through the garage door. "Merlin drank the last, so I made another pot. Fresh."

"Yeah, actually." Maybe that would help him think more clearly. Arriving up the half-flight of creaky stairs, he accepted the offered cup made the way Gaius knew he liked it.

"Merlin went out to find you," Gaius commented. "You two have a lot to discuss."

"He found me," Arthur said. And experienced a full-body tingle-shiver at the memory.

"What is it?" Gaius asked, noticing.

"I kissed Gwen," Arthur told him.

The old man froze in the act of reaching for the sink faucet, one eyebrow lifting almost skeptically. "I beg your pardon, but I thought you said – what?"

"She was resting in the orchard, and I sat down by her and we were talking and then…" That part he couldn't put into words. The idea, the urge, the decision made to act without conscious thought. "I kissed her."

"Well… what… did she say?" Gaius let his hands drop to the edge of the sink and gripped it.

"She…" Arthur frowned, trying to remember, exactly. "Asked if I loved her?"

"Hells," Gaius said faintly. "And you said?"

"Maybe?" Arthur grinned at his old friend and slurped coffee – two creams, two sugars – that warmed him to the pit of his stomach and so reminded him of her that he licked his lips.

Gaius put a hand to his head. "Young men are idiots," he declared. "Arthur. Do not forget that Merlin is your best friend, and that Gwen is his sister. Above _all_ , be honorable."

"Okay," Arthur agreed. "I'm going to go take a shower."

Gaius sighed heavily, and as Arthur began to trot back downstairs, he was almost certain he heard the old man mutter, "Heaven help us."

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

"Gwen," Merlin said quietly.

She didn't answer. Hand over her mouth, she stared through the trees of the orchard into the distance.

He threw the stick – it was too light, it didn't go far – and said helplessly, "What the hell?"

Gwen shook her head, then turned away from him, and he knelt, a different concern striking him.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

She sniffed, and swiped hastily at the corners of her eyes – then looked at him, eyes shining full and overflowing. "I don't know," she said, with a sad little laugh.

"Well, what…" He couldn't find the words, just gestured to the grass, where she and Arthur had been lying and kissing.

She laughed again, an involuntary burst of sound. "I don't know, I don't know… Merlin, I think I might be in love with Arthur Flite."

Her dark eyes held his unwaveringly, and he settled down to sitting. Oh so much more serious than just fooling around. Which could be stopped and apologized for and gotten over.

"He's just… so easy to talk to. And sweet, and funny, and… when he asks about my week, he's not just making conversation, he really truly cares, and genuinely wants to know. And he asks for so little in return, and he's missed out on so much love…"

And what if Arthur was just – curious about the physical? Maybe he didn't feel comfortable pursuing the blonde at the farmers' market because of the need to hide his identity and lie about his past, but – puberty and the teen years had been spent between chair and cell. Merlin couldn't help but think of certain things Gwaine had remarked on, when they'd been discussing Arthur.

"He's so inexperienced," he reminded Gwen softly, with the tragic feeling of giving advice too late. "What happens when you break up?"

"What happens if we don't," she suggested seriously.

His jaw dropped.

She interpreted his reaction correctly. "No, _hells_ I don't mean we have to talk about getting _married_. I mean – _geez_ , Merlin. It's just – I have never liked a guy so much. I love being with him, I love the way he thinks and feels, the way he looks at the world is so amazing. I… want to be the one who loves him, and protects him from the pain of loss. I thought, just as a friend, but now…"

He rested his forehead in his hand, elbow propped on one raised knee. "Don't commit to anything more than friends, not now, not yet. What if, later on, you start to feel like you _have to_ love him? Or if he feels like he has to stay with you even though he's curious about… other fish in the sea."

"You're such a guy," she observed.

"Do him a favor, and yourself," Merlin said, tipping his head so he could see her without moving his hand. "And me. Pull _way_ back on the horizontal make-out sessions." She flicked the backs of her fingers against his upper arm, but not as if she disagreed with his point. "Keep writing and talking on the phone, and if we can get through this mess with his dad, maybe then…"

She looked past him again. "I'd like to agree with you… Come on, Merlin! Yes, I agree with you on an intellectual level, but… he's…"

"I don't want to hear it," Merlin said, freeing his hand to try to wave away the mental image of the two of them in the grass. "Just… _try_. Okay?"

"Okay," she said, sighing. Then she looked at him, eyes wide. "Do you suppose he'd tell Gaius?"

Merlin huffed a short laugh. "If he does, you've got no one to blame but yourself."

"He'll think… Do _you_ think I'm taking advantage of Arthur?"

He rocked his weight over his feet and stood, then gave Gwen a hand up. "If Gaius says anything, just tell him honestly how you feel, like you just told me. You're not just some blonde flirting at the farmers' market. And only Arthur can know if he's ready to learn about _this_ part of the wider world." Gwen cocked an eyebrow at him, and he clarified, "Love."

Her lips quirked, and her eyes dropped, and her skin reddened just slightly, and she had never reacted even that much to any discussion of Lancelot.

Merlin rolled his eyes and headed for the house.

Livestock chores and the noon meal – then gardening work and a group stroll into town for the mail and fresh milk – and dinner and bickering over tv shows afterward. Gaius' glances were sharp and his eyebrow raised; Gwen avoided eye contact and her skin hinted at pink and she was prone to fits of daydreaming followed by effervescent gaiety. Arthur seemed oblivious to undercurrents, but was so cheerful and gently attentive to Gwen that Merlin couldn't deny reluctant smiles to see his friend and his sister so happy. Oh, that it might last…

He didn't get a chance to really talk to Arthur alone til quite late at night, after Gwen and Gaius had shut their respective doors, and he and Arthur descended to the basement space.

Arthur was second in the bathroom, and because he didn't seem too terribly tired, Merlin stretched his legs out on one side of the hide-a-bed, atop the fuzzy blue blanket that smelled of dryer sheets, and turned on the tv set in the corner.

TV-Land reruns. Black-and-white. Andy Griffith, and Ron Howard when he was a rugrat.

When Arthur came out of the bathroom, barefoot and dressed in the white scrubs he still used as pajamas, and paused for a moment to watch the screen, Merlin leaned to slap the other half of the mattress in invitation.

"I watch this sometimes," Arthur said, seating himself. He slung one leg up to the mattress and relaxed against the couch back.

Which struck Merlin as surprising. If Arthur was going to resist the idealism of Tom Sawyer's childhood, why would he enjoy Mayberry? Unless it had to do with the single father carrying on loving and raising his son in peace and happiness, more than childhood freedom and independence…

But he only said, "Insomnia?" and Arthur grunted confirmation.

"Hey," Arthur said then, conversationally, his eyes on the tv, though the volume was too low to follow dialogue. "Your dad ever take you fishing?"

Merlin snorted. "Nah. We bought fish food from a vending machine in the park and fed the koi in the pond. Threw bread to the ducks."

Arthur gave him a half-smile. "I don't… remember actually doing anything with my father. I mean, in my memories, he's a… presence. A voice at the dinner table when I sat next to my mom. But… I have a hard time even… picturing his face. That's… part of why."

"Why you want to contact him?" Merlin understood.

"I guess maybe… to get an understanding of who he is. To accept who he's not, you know? And just… I don't know. Say goodbye."

A flash of intuitive connection – Merlin thought about how young Arthur must have had a last conversation with his mother. And learned to let go and move on – and then for years, witnessed others doing the same – or not. Well, if he needed the same closure with his father, Merlin figured he could help make that happen. Couldn't be any more dangerous than teleporting into the dragon's den, so to speak.

And that was the whole discussion – _lots to talk about_ – right there. Done.

"There's a footbridge over the neck of the pond in the park," he said. "It's stone, and old, so kind of crumbly. But people write notes and stick them in the crevices, and you're allowed to take out the notes that are there and read them if you want, as long as you put them back. It's public, but there aren't any cameras. Well-traveled, but not busy. It's called Hermes Bridge. You can tell your dad to use a certain color paper, and leave his response there. I'll pick it up sometime, or someone will, once we're sure no one's watching."

Arthur was facing him almost fully, his smile reserved but full in his eyes. "You're the best, you know that?"

Merlin grunted, and plunged into his next topic, hoping Arthur's appreciation for his friendship lasted. "So, you know about sex, right?"

Arthur's eyebrows went up.

Merlin replaced that in his head, with a mental cringe. "Wow," he said. "That sounded… quite awkward. While we're sitting on my bed."

"Yes, I know about sex," Arthur said, as matter-of-fact as he'd been after kissing Merlin's stepsister in the orchard grass. "Not personally, though. None of the nurses – no one ever touched me like that. I remember noticing gradually that the young ones were replaced by those who were middle-aged and overweight…"

"Okay," Merlin said. "Okay. Has… Gaius ever talked to you about this?"

Arthur tilted his head, thinking. "He said, above all, be honorable."

"Good," Merlin said, relieved. Then, "And… what exactly does that mean to you?"

Arthur frowned a little, transferring his gaze toward the far corner of the room. "Don't do anything she doesn't want to do," he said. "Probably… don't take off her clothes. Or mine."

Weirdest conversation ever. Gwen had never come right out and said, how experienced she was, and Merlin did not want to know.

"That's a very good start," he said. "We've got enough on our minds right now with your dad and this situation, you don't need to start skewing your thinking by putting on rose-colored glasses."

"Huh?" Arthur said.

"Falling in love."

His friend flashed him a wide, happy smile. "Too late. I definitely love Gwen."

"Oh, hells," Merlin moaned, dropping his forehead into his palm.

Arthur added sagely, "Young men are idiots."

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

"I've never done _this_ before," Freya remarked, cupping her hands in anticipation.

It was a Saturday, and children's voices filled the warm air of the park, punctuated by the occasional bark of a dog.

"You're kidding," Merlin said, pretending shock. He poured half the smelly, grainy brown pellets into her hands. "You mean you never spent a quarter to fatten these two-ton goldfish?"

"We didn't live near here," Freya said. "We came once on a school field trip, but David Fryer stole my quarter and said if I told on him, he'd push me in the water."

"Hm," Merlin said, leading her onto Hermes Bridge, where a teenage couple was seated against the wall, leaned into each other and reading some of the scrap-messages. "You know, I can probably find out where he lives now, and we can go by there sometime and-"

"Merlin!" she said, laughing and bumping him with her elbow.

She had her hair pulled back from her face in a half-braid that bared silver-rose earrings and the short-short hair on the sides of her head while leaving curls spilling down her neck. In the spring morning light she was vibrant in a light-blue t-shirt with a soda-pop logo on the front, raggedly cropped at sleeves and her seventh ribs, over a skin-tight black tank that covered and hugged her hips and her butt. The Pippi Longstocking tights left her ankles bare above a pair of cotton tennis shoes that looked like she'd colored them with rainbow Sharpies in a fit of boredom.

And he couldn't adore her more. He flung a dozen pellets over the water, aware of the myriad bits of paper stuck between the protective stones just beside them, extending most of the length of the bridge.

"What did you have in mind, though?" she added in a curious tone, pitching her fish-food pellets one at a time to the slowly-swirling school of orange-white-bronze koi.

He laughed at her, and flung another dozen. "Probably something like, filling up his car with these things."

She widened her eyes at him. "Now there's a thought."

On impulse, Merlin tossed the last of his handful over the bridge wall, and brushed the backs of his fingers along her jawline, bending to claim her mouth in a leisurely, appreciative kiss. But after a moment of responding more than adequately, Freya pulled her head back, snickering.

"What?" he said, smiling.

"Your hands smell fishy," she told him, dark eyes dancing.

He lifted his brows as if she'd just set him a dare, and shifted his weight to corner her against the wall of the bridge. Then, with his hands tucked behind his back, he proceeded to bend her back over the chest-high wall and kiss her very thoroughly, moving against her body gently but obviously. She laughed, and kissed him back – then kissed him deeper, and both of them were breathless when he pulled back.

"Wow," she said, and blinked at him so that he almost started again – except the fireflies in the pit of his stomach might then grow into flaming dragons. "Why are we here again?"

He grinned, wiping his hands on the tail of his own t-shirt. "Throw your fish food," he told her. "Arthur said he wrote his father to use red paper…"

Freya turned to flick another couple of pellets to fish at the periphery of the grouping, and Merlin glanced over the wall – casually, but keenly. There were two obvious choices, scraps of red showing between stones, but one showed signs of weathering at the folded edges – and the other was rolled in the manner of a scroll. That had been Arthur's idea, too, and the bridge itself couldn't be surveilled except from very near; Merlin knew that from experience.

He reached out and plucked a bright blue note first, unfolding it to see that the paper was round, and the words were printed in a tightening spiral.

"It's song lyrics," he said, and read, " _I love you always forever, Near and far closer together, Everywhere I will be with you, Everything I will do for you_ …"

She grinned at him. "You know what comes next, don't you? _You've got the most unbelievable blue eyes I've ever seen_ …"

He rolled his eyes at her ostentatiously, and she giggled.

Love _could_ be fast and sure; he decided in that moment not to worry about Arthur and Gwen, but wish them all happiness.

Folding the blue note back up and sticking it back in the same place in the wall, he sauntered a few more steps up the bridge to bend and search for the lowest, oldest one.

Faint, rolling script. _I'm not happy and I don't feel loved or respected and I'm lost as to what else I can do to change anything. I don't like to be confrontational but I'm not very good at dropping things permanently that I believe matter. Honestly, I'm sick to my stomach and close to tears just writing this. What else am I supposed to do._

"Wow," Merlin said out loud, and bent to tuck it back into place gently and respectfully. A lone woman, tall and thin with glasses that dominated her face, was leaned on the wall writing on a scrap of paper; the teens skipped past her, giggling.

"What?" Freya followed him in a desultory way, still tossing pellets to the waiting fish, providing his cover.

"Nothing. Just… a bit of love gone wrong, sounds like."

She looked at him. "It can happen to anyone."

He watched her lean against the stone wall and flick another bit of food to the water. How many non-edible mementos had been tossed from this bridge? Love gone wrong… She was right, it did happen, in all kinds of relationships. He kind of hoped the writer of this letter had found balance, and hope.

Then he reached the little red scroll, plucking it out and unrolling it – deliberately not looking around like he was aware he might be watched.

 _To the correspondent who addressed communication to me recently. You cannot suppose I would be so gullible as to trust the relation you claim on such flimsy proof. However, I am not so callus as to dismiss the possibility – or to deny the desire I feel at the prospect of reunion. I can make no such promises as were requested in writing alone, but if you are amenable to a meeting, I prefer only the privilege of choosing the place, and invite you to this address at a time of your deciding. I await your presence or response by mail._

Merlin thought, stunned, _Hells, he wants to_ meet. He rolled it up and placed it back in its cranny, saying aloud, "That was an odd one."

"Really." Freya met his look with complete comprehension, but continuing to play her part. "Never mind, find me another romantic one."

"Okay." Merlin moved on, as Freya flung her last few pieces of fish-food, but his mind was busy calculating farmhouse chores, and when he could soonest expect to catch Arthur on the phone.

This time, they really did need to talk.


	13. Groundwork

A/N: Guest, good question. The short easy answer is, I didn't think of that. The long, more thoughtful answer is: I would think Merlin would have to see the object he's teleporting, at least, if not be pretty darn familiar with it. And line of sight to that bit might be problematic (I said there were two red notes, so from a distance he couldn't be sure, which was _his_ , if you know what I mean.) And then, there might be a problem if anyone on the bridge at the time noticed the red bit disappearing or reappearing… I thought it would be better if Merlin and Freya were just regular people passing over the bridge and reading a few random notes…

 **Chapter 13: Groundwork**

Merlin wasn't paranoid, he was careful. So he drove back to the parking garage of Freya's apartment, checking watchfully for anything unexpected – there wasn't anything – before parking judiciously. Then called the number, and put the phone on speaker mode.

Freya leaned on her elbow over the console, and he had a brief moment to nuzzle that short hair above her ear before the call was picked up.

"Hello?"

"Gaius, it's Merlin," he said. Back to business. "I have Freya with me, we've got Uther's response to Arthur's letter. Can you get him on the downstairs line?"

"Of course. Do you want me back as well?"

"Yeah, I think so."

Merlin's eyes flicked over his mirrors, out of habit keeping track of his surroundings. Freya reached to thread her fingers through his, comfortable and supportive.

"Hello?" That was Arthur. "Merlin? Gaius said, Freya's with you?"

"Hi, Arthur," she said. "It's really good to talk to you, finally."

"You, too."

"I mean, Merlin can't help himself. It's Arthur this, and Arthur that – can hardly get him to shut up about you." Her dark eyes twinkled at him.

"It's not that bad," he protested, angling an eyebrow at her in the quiet cab of his pickup, to which she returned an arch smile.

"Well," Arthur said thoughtfully, "I have a few ideas that might-"

"Which," Gaius interrupted sternly from the upstairs line, "are not the reason for this call."

"Yes _thank_ you," Merlin said. "Arthur. Your dad wrote back – I had to leave the paper there because that's the tradition of the location, but the gist of what he said was, he wasn't convinced his son Arthur wrote the letter, and wouldn't commit to any permanent reassurances without acceptable proof-"

"Acceptable proof?" Gaius said, sounding suspicious.

"He wants to meet."

Dead silence from his phone. And Freya drew back a bit, her dark brows lifted in surprise and her eyes serious.

"I don't like it much," Merlin confessed, to the various reactions of the three. "I can't help thinking that he _knows_ Arthur wrote it, or at least someone wrote it for him, and that this is part of his plan to… reacquire you."

"But you wouldn't let that happen," Arthur said. "And if he won't promise not to try to _reacquire_ me otherwise… then, maybe…"

"What else did the letter say, Merlin?" Gaius asked. "Details of the suggested rendezvous?"

"He said, his place. The address the letter was sent to," Merlin told them. "The time is up to you, and it sounded like you could decide just to show up without prior confirmation."

"He's that eager to get Arthur back, maybe," Gaius suggested. "Or that confident of his ability to keep him."

"I'll get Gwaine to do some research on that property," Merlin proposed. "See what we're up against as far as security measures. How many bodyguard-types he might have hanging around."

"It's a start," Gaius said.

There was a brief pause, before Arthur said slowly, "I can't say I _want_ to see him. But I think maybe I _should_. I don't know if there's any other way to know for sure. If neither of you trusts what he puts on paper anyway."

"Give us a few days," Merlin said, thinking of his current caseload and estimated busyness over the next couple of weeks. "I can drive out and get you…"

"What of his autobiographical insurance?" Gaius asked.

This time Freya leaned forward to answer. "I've given it to a colleague of mine. His readership is far wider than my online column, and he has more freedom to print what he chooses. He has old-school standards, though, it's not about sensationalism or selling copy for him."

"How much does he know?" Gaius questioned.

Arthur said, "What's his name?"

"John Percival. But there's two other guys named John on our floor, so we call him just Percival," Freya answered. "He knows the packet contains the Penned Dragon's deepest darkest, but that peoples' lives are at stake pretty nearly literally, so it isn't to go public unless I tell him to publish. His dad's brother struggled for years with depression the family blamed on his visits to the Penned Dragon, and finally he… he died."

Merlin met her eyes and saw that she'd decided not to say, _he killed himself_ , to the young man at the center of the controversial facility, though not by his own choice.

"Anyway," Freya concluded, "it's enough for him that its doors stay closed. Of course he's got the journalist's curiosity to _know_ , so I told him – if you agree, Arthur – that he can read it after my friend whose life is currently on the line, is safe."

"But it won't actually be published," Arthur asked tentatively.

"Not without your consent, or disappearance," Freya said.

"And I'm not going to let that happen," Merlin reminded him. "And you don't have to go see your dad alone."

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

"How much did you pack?" Merlin asked, looking past Arthur, out the passenger window of the pickup in preparation for his turn onto the highway.

Arthur sat back to clear his line of sight, as he'd want someone to do for him.

It was the same question he'd asked Gaius, standing uncertainly in the middle of the downstairs room. _How much do I pack?_

 _Everything_ meant he wasn't coming back. And wash and dry the sheets and towels he'd used, and fold and put them away and… would he ever come back or see Gaius again?

 _Not_ everything meant…

"There is a certain superstition," Gaius had mentioned to him casually. "To leave or deliberately forget a belonging in a place one wishes to return to someday."

That… didn't really help. He didn't think he was superstitious; he did want to come back to the farmhouse. But, as a guest or a resident? And he had no idea of timing, or whether he'd be able to choose in the next few days or weeks. Or months.

"Gaius said, pack as much as I need," Arthur told Merlin. They pulled out onto the highway and accelerated out of town, leaving Gaius and the farmhouse behind, heading toward the city. "And he could box and mail the rest later."

Merlin nodded, and glanced over apologetically. "Tonight we'll stay at that same hole-in-the-wall motel we did the first night – sorry."

Arthur said philosophically, "It's only a train."

That made Merlin laugh, and he tipped his head back to do it, all the while keeping full confident control of his truck. One hand draped casually over the center console, three fingers of his other guiding the vehicle minimally and as necessary. It reminded Arthur of that first night, too – how much better he'd gotten to know Merlin since then. How much more he liked him.

"Gwaine will meet us there tonight," Merlin continued. "We hacked the internal security at Uther's mansion, so he can record or alter or erase footage of your meeting with your father as it suits us. He also said he's ninety-two-percent sure Uther regularly uses a jamming device to keep visitors from making or receiving calls if he likes – but he can get around that too, provided he's physically there with you."

Arthur nodded. He'd wait til he met the man to decide whether to be relieved at his company, but he trusted Merlin's trust of Gwaine.

"So if we need to call for help, my father won't be able to stop us," he said.

"Yeah. Your father employs a couple of personal assistants who've got military training, so we assume armed muscle for hire, mercenary without morals to be appealed to, sort of situation."

Arthur grunted in comprehension, slouching a little on the seat. "But as long as we have the chance to say, don't do anything stupid, and explain why-"

"Your manifesto is with Freya's friend Percival," Merlin said. "Actually, I wondered about what you thought of him going with you and Gwaine to your dad's house. I met him last week, and he's taller than me and broader than you. We dress him like he knows how to use his fists – or a bicycle chain – and next to Gwaine, he'll make whoever is with your father think twice."

"But," Arthur reasoned, "if he goes, then won't my father guess where my witness statement is, to be able to force its return or suppression?"

Merlin tossed him a smile that was pleased and proud. "Yeah, he might. So we don't introduce Percival and we don't say _how_ your statement goes public."

They rode for a few miles of Merlin letting Arthur think through the arrangements he'd made with two men Arthur had never met. It sounded to him like they'd managed to set up the meeting with appropriate safeguards for each to get to say what they wanted to say. There could be no guarantee how his father would respond – the best thing would be, in genuine agreement to leave Arthur alone for the rest of his life. That the fight wasn't worth fighting.

"But what if it's an ambush," Arthur said slowly, "and he doesn't wait to hear our don't-be-stupid insurance. Or what if he doesn't listen?"

"That brings me to Lancelot," Merlin told him.

And Arthur was just as pleased and proud to discover there wasn't a flaw in his friend's plan, as he was that he'd caught the potential.

"Officer Lancelot," Merlin amended. "A friend of mine on the police force. Him, we introduce. It's perfectly legal for policemen to moonlight as private security when they're off-duty."

"What are you going to tell him, though?" Arthur asked, thinking it curious to meet the man Gwen had spent time with, dating. "The whole story?"

"I mean…" Merlin sent him another glance.

Arthur thought, maybe he considered it curious also, Arthur meeting the man Gwen had spent some time with, since that was the very thing Arthur wanted.

"It's up to you," Merlin concluded. "But I was thinking, we tell him your identity, straight up. Arthur Flite, son of business tycoon Uther Flite. Because he's going to recognize your face from those wanted posters last year, hair or no hair, and in spite of the fact they claimed to have caught and killed you down south."

Arthur shoved his hand through his hair; it still felt strange not to be, rough bristle only. "Tell him that whole manhunt was a lie my father told?"

"Hm." Merlin tapped his thumb on the side of the steering wheel. "No… But if he _guesses_ … No, I think we say only, the two of you have had your differences since you were small, and you're going to confront him about threats he's made, without being specific about the abuse, because you're not interested in pressing charges or getting a restraining order, or anything."

Arthur imagined there would be things Lancelot might be required to report – and if his father had collaborated with someone high in law enforcement for the manhunt, that might get Lancelot into some nasty trouble, too. But he doubted his father would be quick to act if a policeman was present.

"Okay," he said aloud. But what about…

"Percival's got an office full of news-hounds to investigate if something happens to him," Merlin said. "If it comes to having to warn your dad off. And Gwaine will be able to set up and set off something nasty on the internet, if he's threatened. That's their armor, going in."

He sounded satisfied, and navigated the highway nonchalantly.

Arthur looked at his profile, at the rest of him, so familiar and so fond. And maybe it was dangerous for Lancelot to know too much about who might have been involved in falsifying the manhunt, and maybe it was dangerous for Percival if Uther _didn't_ know who he was and what he did, and for Gwaine if he _did_.

But for Merlin. Maybe a friend on the police force and another in the news would keep him safe. But if Uther guessed Merlin was the one who'd gotten him out of the facility so mysteriously, and then wondered if Merlin could _do_ things…

"Do Lancelot and Percival know about you?" he asked. "Teleportation, or anything?"

"I think Lancelot suspects, but he won't ever ask to be told anything for sure," Merlin answered easily. "With Percival… I mean, it's too soon. And it's not necessary for him to know. And it's not fair to tell him, then ask him to keep it secret."

Arthur hummed in comprehension, then ventured another hesitant question. "Were you planning to go with me?"

"Yeah." Merlin glanced at him – at the road for a few seconds – then back at him, longer. "Why? You don't want me to?"

"It isn't that." When Arthur first envisioned the meeting, he'd thought it would be, him and Merlin talking to his father. But that was before he'd thought realistically and pragmatically – not for what he hoped, but for what was likely to go wrong, as Gaius had instructed him.

"Then what?" Merlin wasn't offended, but puzzled, and Arthur found he was glad for that.

"I don't want my father to know who you are," he said. "I think… he must surely still wonder how I escaped, and I don't want… I don't want my choice to see him, to be the thing that gets you caught, after all."

Merlin didn't say anything, but there was a thoughtful look on his face, as he kept his eyes on the road. They swept past a roadside sign informing them how close to the city they were.

"I wanted to go with you," he said finally. "I still think your father's bound to try something, and won't lose gracefully. I thought, I want to make sure nothing happens, and maybe I'm the only one who _can_ , because of my magic. But now I think, you might be right. If we don't want your father to find out about _me_ – and then maybe have even more reason to get and keep his hands on _you_."

Arthur couldn't help a shudder; it was only a moment later that the first glimpse of the down-town high-rises showed on the horizon.

Merlin finished softly, "Maybe it is better if I don't go."

"We'll make plans for after," Arthur said. "Go find somewhere we can have blackberry brandy, and meet Gwen and Freya."

That suggestion brought Merlin's wide smile back out in full. "Yeah. We'll do _something_ , after."

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Gaius had taught Merlin that nervousness was a sign of insufficient preparation. But how did one prepare for _this_? he thought, listening to Gwaine and Arthur, lounging on opposite sides of his bed, as he went to answer the knock on the motel door.

"Why is Merlin friends with you, again?" Arthur said aloud - a response to Gwaine's completely ridiculous attempt to give him a crash course on females in general and dating in particular. He'd offered his sister in marriage again – and Arthur had looked at Merlin, thinking of _his_ sister, Merlin was sure – who'd bitten his tongue to keep his responsive glare stern.

"It's my magnetic personality," Gwaine claimed.

Merlin opened the door and looked up to Percival's shy little-boy grin. "Hey, Merlin," he said. "You said, dress for slumming it, so…"

When Merlin had met him, with Freya, in his office at the Sun-Star, he'd been wearing a three-piece in a modern cut, and looked completely comfortable. Tonight he wore jeans with a hole at one knee, surfer sandals, and a blood-colored t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off to show impressive biceps – and a tattoo around one, of blue-green barbed wire.

"Perfect," Merlin complimented him. "That's a nice touch." He pointed to the tattoo in standing aside to welcome Percival into the motel room.

"That's real," Percival told him, entering.

"Even better," Merlin said, leaving the door standing half-open to the night and mediocre lot-lights of the motel, as they still expected Lancelot. "Guys, this is Percival – Freya's friend from the Sun-Star."

"Merlin, you've got definite competition," Gwaine observed, leaning over to snag a beer from the open ice-filled cooler. He tossed it to Percival, who caught it easily.

"No," Percival said, still smiling, "he does not. Freya glows when she talks about him."

Merlin couldn't have stopped his smile if his life depended on it. He'd gotten a big-brotherly vibe from Percival toward Freya that day, and privately thought it might be something to emulate in regards to Arthur and Gwen, even though he was younger.

"That's Gwaine, my computer guy," he said – though Percival would probably assume, fix-it or software salesman or something, which was fine for first introductions – "and this is Arthur."

"The man of the hour," Percival said – neutrally, but he _watched_ Arthur rise from the bed and step forward to extend his hand in greeting.

"Thank you in advance," Arthur said. "And, you can read what I wrote if my father releases his claim on me."

"When," Merlin corrected determinedly.

This was something he hadn't expected, when he rescued Arthur so cleanly from captivity in the facility – but it wasn't reasonable to expect Arthur to want to live a lie the rest of his life. It wasn't even close to the same thing as Merlin's secret – there weren't questions Merlin couldn't answer in getting to know people, because no one would ever say, _Hey so when you were a kid, when did you realize you had magic_?

"That's a strange way of putting it," Percival said, popping the top off the beer and leaning in the doorway of the bathroom to take his first swallow. "You don't look younger than eighteen."

"I'm not," Arthur said, settling back into his seat on Merlin's bed.

"It's a strange situation," Merlin said. "There's a possibility Uther Flite might try to prove Arthur mentally incompetent for independence."

"Uh huh," Percival said, and his sharpish look at Arthur seemed to assess that possibility for proof.

"If you're still a virgin by your next birthday," Gwaine remarked, pointing the top of his own beer bottle at Arthur, "I'd say that's pretty darn incompetent."

"Shut up," Arthur said, flushing but biting back a smile.

A shadow fell across the doorway, and Merlin looked up to see the police-department logo first, clear and uncompromising white letters across the black long-sleeve t-shirt, the I-mean-business black trousers and riot-squad boots that was Lancelot's off-duty casual-wear. He paused to study the room and its inhabitants before entering, initially reserved and professionally wary, as was his way.

Gwaine coughed an expletive, nearly falling from the bed in his attempt to get upright – instinctive reaction in spite of Merlin's warning and explanation of his law-enforcement friend. This was what made Merlin nervous, too, because Lancelot was a devoted servant of the law Gwaine blithely flouted all day every day.

"You okay?" he said mildly, only.

"Yeah, just…" Gwaine maybe had choked on a swallow of beer; he coughed again. "Yeah."

Percival's head tilted a degree, studying Gwaine's odd reaction to the appearance of an off-duty policeman. Arthur was on his feet again, coming out from between the beds to meet Lancelot by the door.

"Hard day?" Merlin said, to put Lancelot at his ease a little more.

"Not really," Lancelot murmured; deflecting was also a habit for him. Especially when instincts and attention were elsewhere; he stretched to meet Arthur's offered hand somewhat mechanically. "You seem familiar – have we run into each other somewhere before?"

"No," Arthur said. Then, looking at Merlin, added deliberately, "I'm told I bear a certain resemblance to an artist's sketch of a wanted criminal that was on the news last autumn."

"Ah!" Lancelot said. "Yes, you do. A bit."

And as Arthur turned back to the room, Lancelot looked at Merlin – who only smiled and shrugged – and fairly _watched_ Lancelot decide not to inquire further.

Gwaine and Percival were discussing – on the verge of arguing, if amiably – the finer points of different brews of beer, Gwaine stretched out and leaning on the headboard of Merlin's bed and Percival still propped in the bathroom doorway. Lancelot followed Merlin between the two beds and sat next to him on the side of Arthur's as Arthur flipped the basketball game playing muted on the tv off. He settled his hips on the chipped table that supported the set, as Gwaine motioned for Percival to retrieve two beers from the open cooler - then passed them to Merlin and Lancelot as Percival snagged a third to hand to Arthur. Still, Merlin noticed, watching Arthur as if for signs of mental incompetency.

"So," Merlin began, feeling awkward. "Thanks guys for coming tonight, to meet Arthur and hear our plan for getting his dad off his case, once and for all."

"His dad being…" Lancelot said. He'd been told less than Percival, only that Merlin's friend needed help with a potentially volatile family situation, without officially involving law enforcement.

"Uther Flite."

Percival's eyes narrowed. He'd known that Arthur knew Penned Dragon secrets, and was using that as leverage; a whistleblower who didn't want to blow the whistle, but only to live in peace. Gwaine of course knew everything already, so he'd keep quiet; it was just a question of telling Percival and Lancelot enough but not too much – for the codes they both lived by, to publish news and to prosecute the law.

Lancelot only looked puzzled – but then again, it wasn't common knowledge that Uther Flite had a son at all. "But why do you need… all of this? If it's a lawsuit…"

"It's very definitely not," Merlin interjected.

"I was hoping," Arthur said, in a quiet husky voice that somehow captured attention, "that the two of you might accompany me and Gwaine to my father's house for this meeting."

"Can't deny I'd love the chance, whether I get to write about it or not," Percival said. "But if it's moral support you need, then why not take Merlin?"

Arthur didn't exactly answer. "I don't like the term _abuse_ ," he said, his eyes on the floor. "But from the time I was six years old, my father… Well, I'm told that the term most accurately describes my life, without getting into specifics I'd rather not discuss."

Both Percival and Lancelot reacted silent and intent at that word, for different reasons – _scandal_ , and _crime_. Merlin was on the edge of the bed, his spine straight. He'd expected to lead this impromptu meeting and hoped to do a decent job of it – but it seemed now like Arthur was ready to take this next step, and handle it himself.

Without lifting his head, Arthur flicked a self-conscious glanced around at them, and ended with Merlin. "I have every reason to expect that he will go to great lengths to see that this secret stays well-hidden. I'm not sure he's planning to let me leave, if I enter his house to talk to him. And I am sure that he feels extremely vengeful toward the person who helped me leave the situation – even violently so. That's why Merlin's not coming."

Gwaine nodded in wordless agreement, catching Merlin's eyes for a moment.

"Lancelot," Arthur went on, "I'd like you along as a sort of – hired personal security? To make sure he listens without acting violent immediately, and to make sure we get out again, afterwards."

"I can go armed," Lancelot offered quietly. "That's nearly always a good deterrent."

Arthur looked at Merlin, who said, "If you'd prefer that."

"Uther's got two bodyguards, probably armed," Gwaine told him. "Probably willing to break the law to follow orders…" That wouldn't be uncommon knowledge or incredible guesswork – and even if Gwaine couldn't share details like the layout of the mansion or the location of security cameras, at least _he'd_ be aware of those things while they were there.

Lancelot nodded to confirm the decision, a determined, calculating look coming into his eye.

"I'd like you to come for similar reasons," Arthur said to Percival, gesturing to the way he was dressed. "But also as a way of convincing my father, this isn't blackmail. I don't want his money. The promise of publicity is only meant to guarantee my safety from him the rest of my life – and that he won't strike at me through any of my friends."

"You know you could give an official statement, press charges," Lancelot began tentatively. "Then he couldn't… hurt you anymore. Or anyone else, if he was arrested and incarcerated."

Arthur took a deep breath, and let it out. "No, thank you," he said steadily. "There are reasons I want it to remain secret, too. I just… want it to be over."

Lancelot nodded. "And if he doesn't respond rationally, and I'm forced to act in a more official capacity?"

"Then so be it," Arthur said.

"I'll come," Percival decided suddenly. And asked Merlin, "Am I to dress like a journalist, or a bodyguard?"

"You can't manage both?" Gwaine spoke up, grinning.

"I might get my glasses broken." Percival gave him his little-boy smile.

"Dress like a tough, but bring your press pass for back-up," Merlin advised. "None of us really know Uther Flite, so as far as predicting a response…"

At that, Lancelot glanced at Uther Flite's son, but Arthur was unbothered by what was the truth, after all.

"I'll come, too," he said. "If only because I'm not comfortable at the thought of this happening without me, now that I know about it." He paused, then added to Arthur, "You might reconsider, just getting a restraining order?"

Arthur's lips quirked in a half-smile. "Honestly, I'd rather not provoke him. I just want to be left alone."

Lancelot gestured to Gwaine with his beer bottle, asking Merlin, "And he's coming because…"

"Comic relief," Gwaine said, not taking offense. "I'm going to keep things light and cheerful."

"The more the merrier," Arthur said dryly. "Um. Thank you, all of you, for taking this risk for me."

Percival and Lancelot both made immediate noises about moral obligation to do the right thing and champion the victim and so on.

"You're right, it's a terrible risk," Gwaine said suddenly, loudly. "I don't know why I'm doing this. I'm having second thoughts – I'm getting cold feet-"

Merlin put his thumb over the neck of his bottle, giving it a quick and vehement shaking, then shifted it just enough to send a spray of fizzing alcohol shooting across the bed toward his friend.

Lancelot exclaimed, scandalized, "Merlin!"

As Percival called, "Hey!" and moved out of spatter range, and Gwaine tumbled off the far side of the bed.

And Arthur reminded them all calmly, "It's his bed."

But the seriousness was over, and Arthur slid aside to flick the tv on to the fourth quarter of the basketball game.

And as the conversation turned to the inconsequential and everyone sought more comfortable positions and a second round of beers, Merlin relaxed from his nervousness that Lancelot would question the connection of the wanted poster to Arthur's escape from a powerful abusive father – or that Percival would question the connection of the closed Penned Dragon doors to the same.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Arthur didn't recognize the neighborhood at all. He didn't think he'd ever been in such a place – miles of perfect lawns and perfect trees and expensively-menacing iron privacy fencing keeping neighbors and strangers alike at bay.

"He bought this place about ten years ago," Gwaine murmured, beside him in the back seat of Lancelot's dark-blue sedan. He had a laptop computer open on his knees – typing occasionally but more often just watching the screen, as they rode.

 _Monitoring_ , Arthur thought.

"Proceeds from business success," Gwaine continued. "Money you made for him, probably. Still owns your family house, though. Further north, in the country. No one's lived there for years, I don't think. Not since you, maybe."

Arthur hummed. It was odd, but he was finding that Gwaine's chatter – maybe rude, maybe startling – had a relaxing effect. Maybe just because it was distracting – but not enough to be annoying.

"He's there alone." Gwaine glanced up toward the front, where Lancelot and Percival were bringing slow, casual conversation about popular music to an end, then back to Arthur to remain private. "I mean, alone with his two gorillas. Worse comes to worst, hit the floor. I can jam the jammer in eighteen seconds, and then I'll have nine-one-one on speed-dial."

Well, that wasn't relaxing.

"Here we are," Lancelot said.

Neither was that. Arthur's heartrate picked up speed as the car slowed, and turned into a long paved drive - sloping and curving through a stand of old lilacs that hid the front door area – shortened by the tall metal gate keeping their back bumper hanging over the road gutter.

Lancelot rolled down the window, opening what looked like a wallet out to the side. Arthur leaned toward his own window behind Lancelot to see the round reflective eye of a camera set into the pillar holding the iron fencing in place.

Click. Mechanical voice demanded, "State your business."

"Officer Lancelot from precinct seven. I'm here with Arthur Flite, to see Mr. Uther Flite. If that's convenient."

Arthur Flite's heart thundered behind the buttons of the navy long-sleeve shirt he wore tucked into his jeans. His mouth was dry and his palm prickled damply and he wanted Merlin there, he wanted Gaius' farmhouse and peace and safety and-

Peace. And safety.

Click. And the mechanism of the gate droned metallically as the chains circled and the section guarding the drive rolled back.

"You are welcome to enter," the voice stated dispassionately. "Please proceed to the front door."

Lancelot pressed gently on the gas. Percival turned over his shoulder to give Arthur an encouraging smile. Behind them the gate clanged and began to roll back into place with a reversal of the motor and chains.

Gwaine repeated sardonically, "Duh duh _duh_ …"

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

That morning, Merlin couldn't settle to work. He'd returned to his basement apartment-slash-office after Lancelot, with Percival already riding shotgun – and looking like he might be packing one somewhere – picked up Arthur from the motel room, and Gwaine from his pseudo-electrician's van in the parking lot.

He'd planned to be off today. With Arthur.

If he went to Gwaine's house, he might be able to make the system show him the interior of Uther Flite's house and what was happening – but he never went to Gwaine's house when his friend wasn't there. It didn't feel right, even if Nadine and Florence didn't mind. And he wouldn't be able to do anything for Arthur or the others, anyway.

Gwen was off work in a couple of hours. They'd talked about early cocktails and dinner somewhere – but arranging celebrations in advance felt a bit superstitious. Freya was at the Sun-Star, in case they needed corroboration for Uther Flite, what he faced if he didn't cooperate. And because she had an article to focus on, or he might have been happier hanging out there.

Instead he was at his house, trying and failing to find some sort of work that would hold his attention.

And then someone knocked on his door.

 _His_ door, not the upstairs main door of the house, but the walk-out door of his basement apartment. And he didn't advertise; no clients had ever sought him out physically. Everyone called, and if necessary, met elsewhere.

He tossed his phone gently onto his desktop as he passed it to unchain his door and open it.

And froze in wary astonishment.

He'd only seen her in pictures, but she was unmistakable. The long wavy blonde hair – were there gray strands showing already? – gathered messily behind one ear and left flowing over the shoulder of her faded purple t-shirt, worn over jeans and black ballet flats. Mascara smeared away from eyes widened and eyelids reddened, and lips pale and bare and compressed.

Dr. E. Morgause, looking nothing like a clever and composed scientist.

"Please," she blurted. "You've got to help me."


	14. The Living and the Dead

**Chapter 14: The Living and the Dead**

"Please," Dr. Morgause begged, "Please, you've got to help me."

Merlin stared at her, disconcerted. "Excuse me?"

She glanced over her shoulder – and then the other, as if terrified of what she might find behind her. "Uther Flite. He'd kill me if he knew I was here. Can I come inside, please?"

Merlin scanned the street for himself; it looked perfectly innocuous, as always. A young couple with a toddler in a stroller were approaching down the block, and a rentable moving truck was idling at the far curb.

"I'm sorry," he said, still confused – and wary. "I think you may have mistaken me for-"

She made eye contact so forcefully Merlin felt as if she'd grabbed him by the lapels to rise eye to eye with him. "Merlin Emrys, private investigator."

"Well, yes," he said. And made an effort to rebalance himself mentally. "And you are?"

"My name is Morgause," she said. "I worked for Uther Flite at the Penned Dragon."

He opened his mouth to say, _You own it now_ – and didn't. Was that common knowledge, or insider information Gwaine had dug up illegally? He didn't remember.

"It's closed now, yes I know," she said impatiently. "But I _know things_. I'll testify against him, I'll tell everything to anyone, only please – protect me from him."

Merlin blinked. Was it coincidence that she was here now? She certainly seemed sincere, but… "You'll want the police for that," he suggested. "I don't know how you got my name, but-"

"You did some work for us last fall," she reminded him. Her dark eyes were sharp and clever – not fearful. "Background checks on clients?"

"Yeah," he said slowly. "I didn't find anything…"

"Of course you didn't," she said inexplicably. "Please can I come inside to discuss this? Maybe you have a copy of the files we can look at, too. I just feel so naked standing in your doorway like this."

Merlin couldn't help blushing; she was old enough to be his mother, probably, though she was still strikingly beautiful. She missed it, however, glancing down the street again, where a jogger from the next block with a Rottweiler mix was stretching at the corner.

"I'm sorry," he tried again. "But I really don't think I can help you. I'm not a bodyguard, and I can't discuss files if you're not the paying client and-"

She frowned at him. "Since when does a P.I. refuse to accept a job before he even hears details?"

Merlin kept his sigh internal. No, he didn't want to arouse suspicions; he had to keep playing innocent himself. After all, it was probably more likely she'd chosen one of their hired investigators to feed partial or false information to, than the police – it didn't have to mean anyone suspected anything of him.

"All right," he said, holding the door open wider and moving aside to allow her to enter. "Though I really don't see how I'll be able to help you-"

She passed him anyway, and he began to close the door.

But was interrupted by the brush of a touch on the back of his moss-green long-sleeved t-shirt, making him jump and think, _Why would she touch me_ -

Then immediately a white-hot pain shot through him from that point of contact. His back arched and his throat choked on a cry as every nerve pinched viciously. Light exploded around him and his body refused to function – the door closed as he slammed into it, falling against the edge of the desk.

He hit the ground shaking uncontrollably as papers fluttered around him. He was sure he was cursing a blue streak – but couldn't hear his voice at all.

Morgause bent over him, smiling in satisfaction. "Oh, I'll show you how you can help me, don't worry."

She held up an object to show him, like a short tv remote – with electricity crackling blue between two metal points at one end.

"Seems you have something of a heart condition," she remarked.

He thought disjointedly of New Years' sparklers. Smiles and song and impromptu fireworks-by-magic in the midnight sky over farm snow. But reaching for his magic was like touching an electrical fence.

 _Gosh-_ damn _that hurt._

The door opened against his knee and through his rigid sprawl had relaxed into droopy lifelessness, he still couldn't command his limbs. Fresh air breezed against his face, stirring the dust bunnies under his desk, and he heard her footsteps outside.

 _Do something. Move. Call someone._

His hand twitched into contact with his desk. His legs acknowledged his intent – one knee down, slipped… No one was home. Had to get to his phone. Couldn't reach the door lock – and the top of the desk was so far above him…

He reached for more papers, hoping to snatch the one underneath his phone and pull it down, but tingling fingers wouldn't close or grip properly.

"Tsk. What are you doing?" She was back.

 _Damn it all to-_

Almost he didn't feel the needle punch into his thigh.

She stepped over him, tucking the emptied syringe into her pocket, and he knew. Sedate the uncooperative mental patient. Take away the boy's natural inclination to rebel, so he's amenable to abusive conditions because there's simply no alternative.

How does that react with electrical shock. And coronary artery spasm.

His limbs flopped limply. The room went fuzzy around the edges – fog in the morning rising sun burn it off… There was a ripping sound, and Morgause turned to him with a length of silver ribbon between her hands.

Duck tape. Sticks to the feathers. Feathers in the air ducts. Tear ducts.

"Have you got a scissors?" she said brightly.

He closed his eyes.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

The man who opened the front door of the mansion wasn't Arthur's father.

He was built like Percival and dressed in a suit, but probably wasn't much older than any of them gathered under the overhang of the front portico. Dark hair, slickly combed, dark eyes unsettlingly watchful – he looked at the little wallet Lancelot held up again in introduction, before stepping silently to the side.

Lancelot was dressed much as he had been the night before at the motel, with the addition of a holstered sidearm on his belt. He led them inside, followed by Percival, also looking much the same, though the short sleeves on his t-shirt didn't hide muscles or tattoo.

Arthur stepped tentatively over the threshold, thankful for Gwaine's presence at his back.

His first impression was of light vaulted ceilings and great golden beams. And everywhere was brown – thick speckled carpets, thick cream upholstery, deep chocolate end- and coffee-tables. The room was longer than wide – though _plenty_ wide – and two steps led down into the comfortable sitting area before climbing back up to the grand formal dining area in the back, where the wall was formed of expansive slabs of window-glass. To one side of the mahogany table there was a glimpse of kitchen, to the other the beginning of a hallway leading further into the house.

Behind him, Gwaine said to the suited door-answerer, "Wassup? Ya pack a thirty-two or a thirty-eight?"

Arthur was vaguely aware the question referred to weaponry; the man didn't answer but at least Arthur knew who Gwaine thought he was. Armed bodyguard, unscrupulous and obedient.

Someone in the far dining area, obscured by Lancelot and Percival – hesitating until they were invited further into the house – said one word.

"Gentlemen."

Arthur shuddered as memories oozed acidly over his mind's eye and his soul cringed from the contact.

Lancelot and Percival each stepped to one side, and from between them, Arthur viewed his father. For the first time in years; Uther Flite had not come often to the control room or the tiny bedchamber.

His hair was gray, and receding from a lined forehead. He was stocky rather than slender – about Arthur's own height, he'd guess, but the overall impression was granite. The cut of his gray suit was hard, the set of his shoulders and clench of his fists and implacable indifference of his expression. He stood for a moment beside the table – papers, and a single chair ajar – before making a slow deliberate way through the sitting area, closer to them.

His eyes were gray like granite, too. Arthur had planned and practiced to say, _Hello Father_ , quite evenly and calmly – and now found his mouth too dry for words.

Uther Flite looked him over with the flick of a hard, contemptuous glance; he was aware that Merlin's three friends – his three new friends – were intent on his reaction, but he couldn't take his eyes from his father.

But it was a victory just to be standing there, he reminded himself.

Uther unexpectedly shifted his weight to focus on Lancelot, who offered in explanation, "We've brought your son to speak to you, sir."

"Yes," Uther said abruptly – to Lancelot. "Yes, I can see that." He paused to eye Arthur again.

This time Arthur managed a credible, "Hello, Father."

Uther's nostrils flared, and he said – again to Lancelot, "I suppose it would be pointless to quibble over his identity at this point. Where did you find him, and how did you know he was my son?"

"Um… that's really not what we-"

Percival said at the same time, sounding puzzled, "We didn't _find_ him."

"Didn't you?" Uther glared at Percival, and Arthur remembered that his father would still be keen to figure out how he'd escaped – and of course suspect those who came with him, today.

"It's really beside the point," he said, drawing his father's attention again. "My association with them doesn't matter. They're here to assure my safety, during and after our conversation. At least until I'm convinced I have nothing to fear from you."

Uther lifted his chin and narrowed his eyes, and Arthur couldn't tell what he was thinking. Then he again addressed himself to Lancelot in a sardonic drawl. "Really. Was that performance meant to impress me? Why don't you put him in one of those chairs for now – and which one of you gentlemen am I negotiating with?"

"Put him in one of the chairs?" Gwaine said incredulously. He and the door-opener were out of sight behind Arthur; keeping an eye on each other, Arthur assumed.

And Percival said, "Negotiate?"

"There is a reward for his safe return," Uther told him.

"There was no missing-persons filed on him," Lancelot interjected.

Uther flicked him a cool glance. "Regardless. He has suffered mental illness since childhood, and his delusions make him a danger to himself. I am prepared to reward the three of you-"

As he spoke, Arthur was seized with a sense of chilling paralysis. Gwaine had seen him on camera in the facility, he understood – but Lancelot and Percival didn't know that, and had only to believe Merlin. And in the face of this stony wealth and power and certainty…

"What the hell," Gwaine interrupted clearly. "You're offering to pay us to give him back to you?"

"Isn't that what you're here for?" Uther said condescendingly.

Arthur moved forward. This felt like a dream – which maybe made it easier. He took his friends by their elbows, to gain their attention back from his father.

"Thank you," he said to Lancelot and Percival. "Please make yourselves comfortable, and I'll let you know when I'm finished."

Neither of them protested by so much as a look, quietly acquiescing to his right to deal with his parent – which said everything, and meant more. He stepped between them, right up to his father.

"Me, sir," he said, trying to infuse his tone with some of Gaius' sternness. "You will negotiate with me. And I will warn you exactly what it will cost you, to have me back in your control."

Uther glanced past him, but Percival and Lancelot were already moving away toward the thick cream upholstery. Gwaine, Arthur sensed, remained by the door.

"I know you don't believe I'm delusional," Arthur said to his father, feeling surprisingly calm, now that the unpleasant sensations of memory were washing away under the flow of new impressions. "We know the truth. But do you really think me incapable of independent thought and feeling?"

Uther turned away from him without speaking, and moved back toward the dining table at the far end of the room, as if he was genuinely taken aback at being spoken to in such a manner by Arthur, and was trying to gather his thoughts and redirect his approach to the meeting, given his clear objective of – reacquiring Arthur, as Merlin had put it. Now that it was obvious it wasn't simply a matter of agreeing upon the amount of a bribe. Arthur followed; as long as he remained in sight of his friends, he felt safe enough, though according to Gwaine there was probably a second armed door-opener somewhere in the house or on the property.

"I can't remember when you last spoke to me," Uther commented abruptly, as if he was speaking half to himself. "You look… very much like her."

"Like my mother?" Arthur asked, stepping up to the table area behind his father – who ignored him. "I never meant to hurt you – Mama was dead, and told me-"

Uther rounded on him before he'd ascended the last step. "Yes, she was dead," he hissed. "But not _gone_ , not til your willful defiance took her from me. You murdered your mother a second time, you ungrateful, useless-"

Once again, Arthur froze in place, feeling a painful throb of guilt threaten to overwhelm him. He'd never thought of it that way before – and still deeply and instinctively wanted to please his father.

"She told me to let her go," he said, as calmly as he could. "Not to call her back. So we could heal."

Uther made a dismissive noise, spinning away from him. "She would say no such thing. She loved us and wanted to be with us and you were the only thing standing in the way of that. Keeping her from me."

Arthur took the next step up to his father's level slowly. "That's what you thought," he said, trying to remember how he'd explained the refusal to his distraught father, at six years old. "That's why you couldn't bear to look at me? Why you built that place, and kept me there?"

His father sneered, still not looking at him as he fell heavily into the one seat ajar, at the head of the table in front of his papers. "You were good for nothing," he spat. "A waste of time and space and money, if you wouldn't use that ability to bring her back."

Slow livid heat stiffened Arthur's body. "That's not even true, is it. Damn you. You sold your child – not once, but thousands of times. You sold my heart piece by piece and my life by hour and half-hour sessions and you are no better than men who steal and sell children for sex. But you know what? That's over now. I'm free from you and I came here today to make sure you know, I'm going to stay free from you."

Uther's face relaxed from his grimace as Arthur's distasteful comparison. He sat forward over his papers, hands clasped loosely, face settling back into granite lines. "Is that what you think is going to happen?"

Arthur took a deep breath to continue, to assert that _would_ be what would happen – then checked himself. "What do _you_ think is going to happen?"

His father stared at him, and Arthur wondered what he saw, what he thought.

"You have a bodyguard," Uther said. "Because you thought I was going to catch hold of your collar like a naughty boy, and march you to your chair in the facility the moment I saw you. Since it appears you can function rationally on your own, I'm almost disappointed that a son of mine can so underestimate me."

"Well," Arthur said, delaying a minute to think – and relaxing slightly himself to hear they would be allowed to leave without violence today, at least. "I wasn't properly brought up."

A slight flare in the older man's eyes was his only reaction to the jibe. "By this time next week, I'll have you begging me to let you return to your place."

Arthur considered. Underestimation could go both ways, and he wanted to make his father clarify his intentions – since it seemed this was a fight they were going to fight, after all. Disappointed himself, but not surprised.

So he said, deliberately and crudely, "Bullshit."

The ghost of a smirk crossed Uther's face, and he shifted in his chair, settling more comfortably into the situation. "You think your friends will do anything for you after I dismantle their lives? Starting with your off-duty policeman – it will be a small matter to have him discredited. Rumors of brutality with suspects, or evidence gone missing, cash or drugs. Maybe he'll end up behind bars – and you know how criminals treat cops in prison. I will find out who the other two are, and do the same. Jobs, reputations, families…" His eyes narrowed. "Debts? Mortgages? Scandals? They'll wish they never met you, and then how do you expect to enjoy your independence? You wouldn't last two days on your own, no matter how smooth you talk. And the same will go for anyone who befriends you, ever again."

Arthur put out his hand to the back of the chair nearest him, needing something solid to hold on to. Having to remind himself, though disaster and despair sounded guaranteed, Uther wasn't infallible and Arthur wasn't friendless. What his father threatened was illegal, and he could be prosecuted for it – or countered somehow with Gwaine's brand of illegality. And there was also the little matter of-

"I've written everything down," he said. "My life story, if you will. It's currently with a friend who can distribute it widely and immediately. And what will that do for your reputation? If I even so much as suspect you've had a hand in the bad luck of my friends. I don't personally want to involve the law either, but I'm willing to sign a sworn statement that'll have you investigated on criminal charges anyway – and without me making you money hand over fist, how do you suppose you're going to bribe or intimidate enough people to make that sort of problem go away?"

Uther glared at him – and he found he didn't care.

But another voice spoke up. "He's not the only one who can make money like that – and he's not the only one who wants you, either. Arthur."

Down the hall and out, the speaker sauntered into view. Not quite as old as Uther, but stout and heavy-jowled, dark hair flecked with gray and combed back from his face. Arthur wouldn't have recognized him but for the voice.

"Uncle Agravaine," he managed.

His throat was trying to close; his feet were trying to move him backwards, but the carpet was thick and the stairs down into the sitting-area somewhere behind him. He was aware that Lancelot and Percival were on their feet again, that the second bodyguard – no suit jacket, handgun in holster on his belt like Lancelot's – was at his uncle's side.

"I said I'd take care of this," Uther growled, but remained in his seat.

Agravaine snorted at his brother-in-law, and let his gaze slide over Arthur, head to foot and back again. "Well. You have grown up."

His father's voice had brought back a conflict of memories – hazy early good times, the faint hardwired wish to please. But his uncle's voice triggered bone-deep revulsion so immediately his stomach cramped. He was a child again, scrambling for a place to hide, cramming fingers into his ears to block the sound of that voice, breathless and amused in the dark at the game only he was enjoying.

Desperate for the safety of his mother – her warmth, her voice, her body the shield between him and his uncle.

Instinctively he turned his head, locating the Veil that was just beyond the edge of his vision – transparency became opaque and rippled slightly to obscure the windows behind the table.

"I told you he might be uncooperative," Uther said to his brother-in-law, leaning back in his chair. "But if you want to throw your money after mine – go ahead and try."

"Perhaps you shouldn't have shut me out when you started this venture twenty years ago," Agravaine shot back.

Good thing, Arthur thought, that Merlin didn't try to contact his uncle, last year.

Then Agravaine suggested, eyeing Arthur again, "Perhaps you never bothered learning how best to handle him."

Arthur's whole body shuddered, all on its own. Disaster and despair threatened to overwhelm him.

In the corner of his eye, a purposeful ripple crossed the Veil, and its folds shifted forward, distinguished as a woman's dress, as she appeared. The garment was full length over her bare feet, wispy green like a moon-moth's wings, leaving her arms bare also. Moonlight strands of fair hair curled down from a careless knot, and fine features warmed with a loving smile. She met Arthur's eyes and wafted straight to him – through the table.

"Mama!" he choked.

The rest of the room reacted with more violent shock. Uther's chair tipped over – echoed exclamations of " _Ygraine_!" – his friends and the two bodyguards moved suddenly, but not far from their places. By the door, Gwaine said something wholly inappropriate, which Arthur prompty forgot.

"I didn't," he stammered, "I didn't call you. I didn't. Did I?"

"No, my sweet boy. I can be here now because odd things are happening somewhere else…" She stunned and distracted him by putting her arms around his shoulders.

He could _feel_ that, the pressure of her embrace. The brush of her dress against his clothes. He could _smell_ her – lilac – and it had never happened that way before. Spirits were always incorporeal – sight and sound, only.

"My brave little son – look how you've grown," she continued, and every word made his heart ache. Not with regret or loss or grief, but with love and longing and hope – someday, to be reunited. "I'm so proud of you."

"I listened to you," he whispered, feeling tears start from the sting in his throat as he dared to circle his arms gently around her, too. "I tried to obey."

"You did." She drew back, reaching up to brush and smooth his hair – and he'd forgotten that he remembered that gesture. "You grieved for me, and didn't forget me, but you loved me enough to let me go – and not let my death change you into someone I cannot recognize."

Arthur shifted his weight, returning fully to the situation in his father's house – and Ygraine swirled to face her husband and brother.

"And who are you?" she demanded.

Uther stepped out from behind the table, tearful wonder trying to transform his craggy face. He didn't come closer, but spread his hands as if hoping to entice her to come to him.

"Ygraine," he said, breathless with emotion that scrabbled unfamiliarly at Arthur's heart. "It's me. It's Uther. I'm your husband."

"No, you're not," she countered, and Arthur was unacquainted with his mother cold and furious, too. "You're the man who locked up my son when he was a child. Who bound him and drugged him."

And everyone in the room, listening with baited breath to the unexpected visitor, heard the accusation.

"You forced him to perform his talent to line your own pockets, when you should've been teaching him multiplication tables. How to skip stones and paint a doghouse and drive a car. Take him rafting in the mountains, and drop him off at the movies for his first date. You are _not_ my son's father – you're a monster!"

The granite melted. Uther's head drooped; he put a hand flat on the tabletop to lean on. He opened his mouth – shook his head, and didn't say anything.

Ygraine didn't give him much of a chance. She shifted her attention past him to her brother, still standing at the arch of the hallway next to a highly uncomfortable bodyguard.

"And _you_!" she spat. "My own brother – his own uncle! I ignored it when I was alive, I didn't want to even acknowledge the suspicion, but _I know_ , Agravaine, and I can't tell whether you're worse than Uther or not!"

"Shut up!" Agravaine hissed. Arthur couldn't see him clearly; in front of him, his mother's figure was opaque.

"I know what you think when you look at him," his mother continued. "You disgust me. You cannot know what dark things await your punishment one day, both of you, if you don't-"

"You spoiled bitch, how dare you!" Agravine wrenched sideways, snatching the handgun from the bodyguard's belt.

He pointed it at Ygraine.

At least two of the others shouted – Lancelot drew his own weapon; some scuffle sounded between the other and Gwaine at the door, so far away Arthur paid no attention.

His uncle's face was purple with manic animosity. Uther looked over his shoulder at his brother-in-law–

" _No_!"

Uther sidestepped to block Agravaine with his body, just as the gun went off.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Rumbling motion roused him. He opened his eyes and blinked dimly at a large boxy shape around him.

Smell of engine grease. Feeling of wheels bumping rhythmically.

 _It's only a train._

Weakly he tried to move and found he couldn't, muscles cramping in a forced fetal position. His fingers met sticky bonds wrapping his wrists together. His knuckles and hair and clothes brushed cardboard.

Seriously? She'd tazed him and drugged him and put him in a cardboard box.

He imagined it said Refrigerator on the side. He imagined she'd used a mover's handcart and the lift at the back of the van across the street. He imagined his neighbors marveling that a slender blonde woman could move such a thing by herself.

Dammit. Where… and why… and _Arthur_.

He closed his eyes and began to imagine his room at home. Bedroom-office. Slightly musty when it rained. Fresh paint in the bathroom. Sunlight at the window and knobby rug under his socks…

Nothing happened. Perhaps he couldn't move from a place that was itself in motion, if he couldn't erase physical conditions that were constantly changing. Maybe when he got out of this mess – and got this mess out of him – he could test the theory…

Consciousness drifted away.

…*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Arthur had heard gunshots before, wafting faintly on chill autumn breezes, over the fields from unseen hunters. Five paces away and indoors, the sound was deafening.

Everyone was moving but him, it seemed. Agravaine and the disarmed guard next to him, grappling for control of the weapon – the other four leaping toward them from the sitting area.

Uther tilted back toward the table – one side of his suit jacket swung free, showing an sickening red stain spreading wetly over the buttons of his collared shirt.

Ygraine swayed back toward Arthur, reaching to cup his face and smile like she'd smiled when he said goodbye at six-and-a-half. Before he could respond, she stepped forward to take Uther's hand – decisively, though Arthur could not longer see her face.

His father looked at his mother – hope coloring shock – and as she dissolved in a silvery shimmer like the ripples of the Veil, his eyes closed and his body dropped. Without sound, without life.

Arthur fumbled for a chair so he wouldn't collapse right on the carpet himself, staring at the body of his father. Thinking he should feel _something_ – but not even curiosity would come.

Lancelot was barking orders, he was dimly aware; confiscating the second guard's gun while the first secured Agravaine's hands behind his back and Agravaine screamed profanity from his knees. Gwaine was on his phone – calling for help, probably. Eighteen seconds to jam the jammer. Arthur wondered if he was calling 911, or Merlin.

It was Percival who came to kneel beside Arthur and put two fingers to the pulse in Uther's neck. He sighed and shook his head, meeting Arthur's eyes to tell him what he already knew.

"Are you all right?" Percival asked him, shifting back but remaining in his crouch. He added an oath… "I've never seen anything like that before. Who could have guessed…"

"Your boys in blue are on their way," Gwaine said aloud to Lancelot. But then he looked at Arthur with the first serious expression Arthur had seen on his face. "I'm afraid you're not going to be able to keep this private anymore."

Arthur shook his head numbly. Maybe it didn't matter anymore.

Agravaine's diatribe subsided to bitter grumbling. Lancelot made him lie face-down on the hallway carpet, while the two bodyguards had retreated to a corner of the dining room, conversing quietly but intently – out of a job, now, and can't put this one on their resume, probably.

Arthur noticed that the thick speckled carpet was soaking up the dark stain of his father's blood. He felt a faint urge to rearrange Uther's limbs for dignity if not comfort – then thought, probably the police and investigators wouldn't want that.

And Gwaine's phone rang, some situationally inappropriate phrase of a belligerently-disjointed rap song. Gwaine looked at the screen – frowned at the screen – then lifted it to his ear.

"Hello? Yeah, this is… Gwen?" His tone was incredulous.

Arthur was on his feet, and Lancelot's attention diverted from reciting rights to Agravaine in a low tone. Percival twisted around to see Gwaine, then rose to his feet beside Arthur.

"Slow down, what's… Okay, but maybe he just… Yeah. The door… and his phone. What about Freya, did you…" Gwaine turned away from them, his eyes on the floor as he moved aimlessly.

"What's wrong?" Lancelot questioned. "Gwaine?"

Gwaine held up one finger in a request for patience. "No, we're all here. Uther's two mercs accounted for… I don't know, something unrelated? He hasn't said he's handled anything potentially dangerous for a while…"

Something had happened to Merlin.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

She was humming when he opened his eyes again.

Humming, and using a pair of box cutters. Vigorously, and he cringed at the sound of ripping cardboard and tape; he couldn't quite convince himself that skin and veins weren't next.

He could tell that he wasn't crammed into a pretzel anymore, breathing his own breath in a box – he was stretched out, though he still couldn't move. Everything was white and smelled of antiseptic… but this wasn't a hospital.

His fingers could move, but not his hands – feet, but not legs. Eyes but not head – and that was what caused panic to rise in his throat. It hurt, all through his chest, and he wondered if she'd strapped him down tightly enough to hamper his breathing.

Then he heard a buzzing whine, and simultaneous tugging and chill on his scalp.

"What the hell," he managed.

"Ah." Morgause moved into his restricted field of vision above him. Upside down, with her messy ponytail hanging over her shoulder. Eyes dark and intense, and smile cruel and careless. "Finally. I expected to hear from you two full minutes ago. Perhaps your system is weaker than I thought – that would be a shame."

"Why?" he said. His eyes were blurring – abruptly, and not at the same time, and his sense of depth perception was all off. He could have been strapped to a ceiling or the bottom of a pool, for all his eyes could tell him. It was disorienting enough to make him sick to his stomach; he hoped he didn't vomit, because he couldn't move to make sure he didn't choke on it.

"I told you I would tell you, didn't I?" she said, looking past him and beginning to tug his hair and cool his scalp again. "But can't you guess? Don't you recognize where we are?"

He couldn't focus. "Where are we?"

"The Penned Dragon. Uther Flite gave up finding his dragon after Arthur disappeared, but I knew there were… other options."

"You mean me?" he said stupidly. "Why me?"

The buzzing whir stopped, and she spun away from his sight. All he could hear was beeping and clicking – and then she was back, touching his scalp again, tugging at his skin. The touch was too intimate; he hated it, and he couldn't move.

"What the hell?" he said again. Movement and control were impossible, which left only knowledge to be utilized. "What are you doing?"

"When you eliminate the possibilities," she said, sounding distracted, "all that remains is the impossible. My guess is teleportation – am I right? I seem to be better at this game than you, Merlin."

His ribcage was shrinking. It felt like he couldn't breathe, even though each deep inhalation and deliberate exhalation proved that sensation wrong. He struggled against dread and uncertainty, trying to reach the internal serenity necessary for her guess to become his reality.

Not so far as his basement apartment. Just back outside to the square of sidewalk where he'd taken Arthur, and then he could run… He was fairly sure she was alone.

And hells, had taken him so easily. Gwen was right; he needed a partner to watch his back when things got crazy and shifty.

But in that one second, the crystals woke.

Not just one, set in the carpet two paces away, but dozens all around him – _on_ him, touching his skin in the same configuration of stone and wire he'd seen on Arthur. All of them shrilled curious malevolent rays at him, though him – like the stinging tentacles of a jellyfish, killing without meaning to even as the victim struggled to leave it alone.

"How did you –" he gasped. There were on-off switches for the crystals?

"Find out about you?" she finished, wrongly, stepping back to check him over visually. "Well. I'd like to tell you about the string of mistakes you made that led me right to you, but the fact is, that wasn't the case. It was Arthur."

Merlin tried to pull his chin down, to better see what she was doing by the bank of monitors and keypads, but the angle was wrong. Tried to wrench hands and feet free – or tip himself out of the chair – but he was slick with sweat and his muscles trembled more than responding.

She turned to meet his eyes. "Arthur's vital signs were always so consistent. You could set your watch to his pulse. But I found, going back through the recordings from last year, before he disappeared, that changed twice. And aside from the one stupid cow supervising him and three brainless showgirls working the client side of this facility – you were the only other common denominator between those incidents. And you had your heart attack the second time."

Well, damn. That was nothing he could have foreseen. Probably Arthur wasn't even aware of that one seemingly insignificant detail.

"What are you doing?" he asked. He was unable to focus on his magic to release his bonds or levitate the unseen box-cutters, and the crystals weren't going to let him leave. Float motionless between jellyfish tentacles. "I'm not psychic like Arthur – I can't make this place work. Is it about the teleportation?"

She cocked her head as a smile arced across her face, and moved back to his side – which was more unnerving than her fiddling with the controls and gauges.

"I spent some time trying to devise a commercial use for that talent, I will admit," she said. "I came up with nothing that would be cost-effective in terms of potential problems. No. This, what we're doing today, what you're helping me with, this is something bigger than Arthur could manage on his best day. I stayed, hoping… but til you came along, I didn't truly expect to make my dream a reality."

"Little more nightmare from my end," Merlin said. Damn, his chest hurt, all the way to his spine pressed into the uncomfortable vinyl of the chair.

Morgause hummed, a mockingly sympathetic sound. "It'll probably get worse, too. Look, I'll show you."

She spun away, triggering another round of dizzying blurriness of vision – then triumphantly held up what looked to him like an empty flower vase. It took him several seconds to focus on it – and then he noticed the lid.

Cremated, but not interred.

"I have theorized," she told him, "that if one person of moderate ability can part the Veil and draw spirits through, why could not a person of greater ability rip the Veil in two and allow the spirit to return to its body permanently. I've spent years trying to figure out a way to boost or magnify Arthur's power – but someone who can _teleport_? Jackpot."

"Wait. Morgause…" She whirled away from him again, and he tried to raise his voice to reach her. "Your sister was cremated, there's no body for her to return to."

"That won't be a problem," Morgause said cheerily. "I believe you're powerful enough to reassemble her from ash."

"You're insane," he said, the sinking feeling in his gut pulling viscerally downward on his heart.

"They said that about Einstein… Now hold still a minute, I want to see if this works or if I'm going to have to recalibrate…"

There was a sound like a metallic flash, and his ears rang like a singing bowl – around and around, continuous noise subtle but increasingly unbearable. He blinked blindly for a second, then saw black instead of white – and a curtain hovering over him like the tattered agitated garment of a banshee.

Someone was shrieking. The crystals, maybe. Were they expressing delight or danger?

Over the noise Morgause declared, "Yep, that'll do fine. Okay, here we go…"

All the venomous crystal tentacles aligned with a snap and it felt like the tazer shock again – his whole body stiffened involuntarily, arching his back clear off the chair and squeezing his lungs against the restraints.

 _freakin' hell damn bitch shit hurts_

The Veil split like the belly of a dead fish. And, with his fingers gripping the ends of the armrest like an eagle's talons, Merlin seized the two tattered ghostly sides of the spiritual barrier, cramming his own soul into the gap.

And screamed.

* * *

 **A/N:** Guest - Yeah, I think you're right about the UK emergency number. But, as I'm a resident of the U.S. of A., I'm not going to embarrass myself or anyone else trying to set a modern story anywhere but here… And, this may answer your questions about Morgana, or it may bring up new ones… but hopefully you enjoyed!

 **Also, FYI. I'm going out of town in a couple of days for the week of Spring Break to visit my sister, so there won't be a chapter next week… but if I get good time to write while I'm gone, I might be able to load it by next weekend rather than waiting two weeks for Wednesday again… So I'm kind of sorry for leaving you all with this cliffie for a longer time… kind of.**


	15. The Second Dragon

**Chapter 15: The Second Dragon**

"Arthur," someone said in his left ear – and there shouldn't have been anyone there. No one had been in the kitchen when they arrived at his father's house, and everyone else in the room was on his right.

He turned and was shocked – again – to see a bearded man in ragged-comfortable jeans and t-shirt and socks. All in nebulous but opaque gray.

"Balinor," he said. And he hadn't called him, either.

"I can't stay," the older man's spirit said swiftly. "He needs you. He _needs_ you."

"Where?" Arthur said only. Because that explained Gwen's phone call to Gwaine.

"The Penned Dragon." Balinor began to fade, glancing over his shoulder at nothing Arthur could see. "She's trying to pen the dragon, Arthur. She can't… too dangerous…" He disappeared, and Arthur faced the rest of the room – shock dissipating more rapidly this time.

"You saw him," Percival said to Arthur, sounding surprisingly calm, before turning to their companions. "Did you all see him, too?"

Lancelot and Gwaine confirmed with a single swift look. The other three – Agravaine and the two guards – were unimportant.

"Gwen said Merlin was supposed to pick her up from work, and didn't show, and wasn't home when she got there," Gwaine told them. "But his door was open and he'd left his phone and some papers from his desk scattered on the floor."

"She who?" Percival asked Arthur. "I'm assuming that ghost came to warn you about Merlin?" He shook his head and added under his breath, "That happen often?"

"That was Merlin's father," Arthur said. "He meant Dr. Morgause." He was sure of it; what other _she_ could it be? He stepped over the three stairs to the bottom of the sitting area, heading toward the front door in a straight line.

"At the Penned Dragon?" Percival asked, following.

Gwaine said into his phone, "We're on it, I'll call you back." He pocketed it without waiting for Gwen's response.

"Ah, guys?" Lancelot called after them. "You're witnesses to a murder, you can't just-"

Arthur didn't even slow, saying over his shoulder, "I'm taking your car, Lancelot. You can arrest me later, if you absolutely have to. All right?"

He leaped back up to the landing just inside the front door. Lancelot hesitated, looking unhappy. Then, transferring his gun to his left hand, he reached into his pocket with his right to retrieve his keys and toss them to Arthur across the room. "Call me when you know Merlin's all right."

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Too many fish in the net. Too many bats in the bag. Merlin clung tenaciously, but it was a losing battle. And when his soul exploded and his body ripped in half…

It wouldn't be Morgause's sister, returning to a restored body. It would be, all the spirits of all the dead ever, loosed upon an unsuspecting, unprepared world. And then what?

No one ever wrote an indemnity clause or waiver for this.

He opened his eyes in a fierce glare, growling between gritted teeth, and Morgause frowned down on him.

"Why isn't this working?" she muttered to herself, turning away to her controls.

The crystals whined happily, burrowing down through his skin in search of his magic. Far away Morgause made a noise of discovery and-

 _pop_

Something in his chest disconnected, and he was free. He leaped up from the chair, scrabbling for the tattered edges of the Veil anew, trying to see if he could lace them back together, knotting fraying cords across it like stitching a wound or something, but-

 _interesting_

The Veil wasn't a Thing. It was a hole, a hallway, a portal – and the edges were Reality. The air of the world, charged with necessary oxygen and nitrogen, sifting swirling particles, energy in constant flux. He could feel them all, disjointed.

The Veil wasn't supposed to exist. Whatever transition occurred in the moments between life and death, this was not an original, intended passageway. It was a back door, a broken window, a cracked foundation – and maybe Arthur had made use of it without disturbing it further.

But Morgause was aiming him at it like a grenade.

Clamping down on his magic – that wanted to be used, like a flame to a fuse - was like biting his tongue. But maybe if he could pull the two edges together, the molecules in the air would sew the interdimensional rift back up.

There were those souls that sensed what he was doing, that reached out of the dark chasm before him, toward the light at his back. A hundred hands touching him without care or recognition, probing at his face, fumbling at his throat, down his belly, and up his legs, and he could do nothing but scream at them-

it didn't help-

And wrench the edges closer together.

Closer. _Closer_ …

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. .….*….. …..*…..

The parking lot of the Penned Dragon was empty when Arthur pulled in, bumping over the curb, except for a moving van backed up to the employee entrance. The rear door of the vehicle was up and the loading ramp was down, he saw as he threw Lancelot's car into Park and shut down the engine.

He squeezed the keys tight as he flung open the driver's door and pushed himself out, vaguely aware of the other two following him – Percival from the passenger seat and Gwaine from the back.

"And you say he only started driving a couple of months ago?" Percival asked Gwaine, somewhere behind Arthur.

He ignored Gwaine's answer, reaching the moving van and rounding the back bumper to see into its depths – empty. He swung around as Percival tested the handle of the back door of the building – it didn't move – and Gwaine joined them more slowly, laptop open on his forearm, stumbling over the curb that bounded the parking lot inattentively.

"She's got the security system shut down," he said without looking up, typing one-handed. "I mean, shut _down_. No cameras at all – which means she doesn't know we're here, but I can't see inside, either."

Arthur moved to the door.

"It's locked," Percival said unnecessarily, moving to allow him access, but he tried it again anyway.

"And," Gwaine added, "I can't bypass the doors. Don't suppose either of you can pick an electronic lock?"

Arthur started toward the corner of the building without bothering to answer. There were windows and he could find a rock, he was sure of it. And if the alarms went off after all, and the police responded… well, as long as they reached Merlin, emergency personnel would _help_ him, even if it got Arthur arrested.

"Can an electronic lock be picked?" Percival asked Gwaine in a curious tone, and Arthur remembered that the newsman didn't know the full history of the computer expert.

"Sure, if you have the equipment," Gwaine said. "I don't, though, see…"

At the corner of the building, Arthur glanced around to orient himself – and across the road, there was a van parked, similar enough to the moving van that he looked again.

 _Leon's Locks – The Locksmith You Need!_

Between one step and the next, Arthur stopped. Well, whatever resources came to hand…

Giving the street a quick up-and-down glance, Arthur turned and quickened his steps, jogging across the lanes of sporadic traffic. Behind him he heard Gwaine and Percival exchange questioning comments, but he avoided two cars and an SUV, and rounded the back corner of the locksmith's vehicle just as a curly-haired man in a dark-blue service uniform slammed one of the two abbreviated vertical doors. He looked up expectantly, a round face with clear eyes, intelligent and calm and quiet.

"I need your help," Arthur told him.

He smiled; maybe he was used to people saying that to him. "You're in luck," he said. "I'm just finished here – what, did you lock your keys in your car or something?"

"Not exactly," Arthur said, feeling a tingle of high urgency in his fingertips and the center of his chest. "Can you pick an electronic lock?"

The locksmith's eyebrows went up, and his smile dropped. "I _can_ ," he hedged.

Arthur took a deep breath, hearing another car pass by them in the street, and then the clatter of approaching footsteps – only one of his companions, by the sound of it. "My friend has been abducted, and he's in that building." He pointed without looking. "There's an outer lock and an inner one, but the power's been cut…"

"Abduction is a matter for the police," the curly-haired locksmith said disapprovingly – and his eyes went past Arthur.

"Like three-point-seven-five million is a matter for the police?" That was Gwaine's voice.

The locksmith's attention sharpened abruptly. "What is this, a joke?"

"I'm a friend of Merlin's," Gwaine said. "Merlin is the reason your dad was at your wedding, right?"

Arthur dropped his eyes to the man's left hand and a plain gold wedding ring, shiny-new. "Congratulations."

Leon looked between them, still hesitant, unsure of trusting their story, or their motives, maybe.

"It's Merlin who's locked in that place, that we're trying to get out," Gwaine added. "I'd call in a bomb threat – but I'm not sure they'd get here in time." Leon squinted at them, and Arthur could feel his skepticism beginning to win out in spite of the fact that Gwaine was essentially serious.

He said desperately, "Please. I'll pay you anything you ask, somehow I'll pay you back, but it's my friend. And I'll break in a window if I have to…" Although, that would still leave the inner door to the control room. Well, he'd find a way to go through a wall if necessary.

The locksmith shook his head – but now he was beginning to relent. "If there's an internal alarm and it's tripped, I'm gone."

Arthur nodded. Fair enough. "I'm Arthur," he said. "This is Gwaine."

The dark-haired man grinned in response to the introduction and tucked his laptop away under his arm.

"Leon," the locksmith said, and turned to pull the latch opening his van's back door again. "An electronic lock?"

"It's a Westinghouse, RTS-EX," Gwaine said.

Arthur didn't watch the expert select the particular tools of his trade, but leaned on his toes over the curb, studying the outer walls and angles of the facility building. Merlin had brought him out at night, but on a different side, he thought. A different street, where his pickup had been parked…

"All right," Leon said. "Let's go-"

He continued with some phrase, fatalistic or funny, that Arthur didn't wait to listen to. He was off the curb so fast that Gwaine and Leon had to wait for the gap after the car that Arthur avoided – blaring its horn – and ignored Percival's concerned look on the other side of the street.

"Percival, this is Leon," Gwaine said behind him, as he stalked past the big journalist to the Penned Dragon's back door. "He's going to open the lock."

 _Oh, good. Nice to meet you._

 _You as well. A friend of Merlin's._

 _Of course._

 _And he's stuck inside, somehow._

 _Yeah…_

Arthur bounced on his toes, but left Leon plenty of space to kneel on the sidewalk and attach equipment. The locksmith spared him an upward glance – but it was not in irritation or speculation, nor even sympathy. It was something like dawning comprehension of the severity of the unique situation.

The lock clicked open and Arthur's hand was on the latch – but Percival reached over Leon to take the handle and pull the door open. Leon swiveled in his crouch, out of the way and detaching equipment. The hall stretched in front of them, lit by the red Exit sign overhead; half a dozen doors silently eyed them with a single long window panel.

And one blind door at the end.

Arthur started forward, and someone brushed the wall to reach the light panel behind him. In low murmurs they spoke facetiously of whether breaking and entering applied.

He remembered none of this, from the first and only trip he'd made, entering the facility as a child. Maybe he'd been carried in, asleep.

Or drugged.

Leon was just behind him when he reached the windowless door – the only one with a security keypad - and knelt as Arthur leaned his ear to the metal panel. Sound-proofed?

"You're sure about this?" Leon asked – but his fingers didn't hesitate, preparing his equipment to bypass this door also.

"I wonder why he didn't just _leave_?" Gwaine said, and Arthur was probably alone in hearing the significance of the question. Because Merlin could teleport.

"Do we know why this woman abducted him? What she wants with him, here?" Percival said.

Maybe someday he'd know the answer. The second locked disengaged with a click, and Arthur nearly knocked Leon over, yanking it open to the control room. This was obviously the side entrance, where nurses and technicians appeared and disappeared; his bed-room was through another door to the right…

Arthur's heart was in his mouth, and he couldn't breathe. It was Merlin strapped in the chair, by his long, slender limbs – but a conformation of sensors and crystals were attached to his nearly-bare scalp like a cap, and black hair littered the floor. Beyond, Dr. Morgause was so intent on the bank of switches and screens that she didn't immediately notice them.

But in the narrow space just beyond the reclined chair, the Veil was roiling with black oil-ripples and waves, and when he looked closer he could see the disturbances were made by human appendages – hands, faces, shoulders and elbows. Like a theater crowd trying to find the break in the curtain with the back of the chamber on fire.

And a transparent representation of his lanky black-haired friend fought to pull each grip of the sides of the corrupted shroud together.

Close the window, keep the night out. The whole room quivered with something that felt to him like magic leashing magic.

One of his friends exclaimed, " _Damn_." One of his friends added, " _F_ -"

"Shut it down, shut it _down_!" Arthur demanded, striding into the room. Dr. Morgause turned from her knobs and monitors, surprised into irritation. "Shut it down, _now_!"

"What the hell are you doing back here?" she responded – then her expression cleared so abruptly he stopped in his tracks. "Oh, good – you can help!"

She turned back, reaching.

Spirit-Merlin twisted just enough to see Arthur over his shoulder, and his face was nearly unrecognizable in its agony.

Gwaine leaped into Arthur's peripheral vision, focused on Merlin in the chair, and his ever-present laptop wasn't present. He swore again, viciously – "Arthur, he's not breathing. I can't – his pulse isn't-"

"Don't you touch that!" Arthur screamed at Dr. Morgause.

"What did she do?" Leon asked someone. "What the hell is all this?"

Percival passed Gwaine, who was beginning to use nimble fingers to unfasten their friend from the crystals' trap.

"Don't you touch that!" she echoed, stepping away from the controls-wall.

She brandished a box-cutters in one hand – but she was watching Gwaine, not Percival. Who punched her, right in the face, so hard her blonde ponytail flipped off her shoulder. Then she dropped.

"Arthur, we gotta get him out of here!" Gwaine warned, sounding anxious.

"I know CPR," Leon volunteered, venturing into the room – pale with shock, but collected. "Get him out of the chair, down on the floor."

"I'm calling nine-one-one," Percival announced.

Arthur turned back to the whispering agitation of the darkened Veil. It looked like it was beginning to zip itself up, bottom and top – maybe coinciding with Gwaine's removal of the apparatus – and spirit-Merlin had let his hands drop, watching them all over his shoulder.

Beside him, Arthur abruptly recognized two spirits who'd appeared outside the inky black surface of the Veil-tear. Balinor, and Merlin's friend Will.

Something cracked, deep within Arthur's chest. Because Merlin _hesitated_ , and Arthur knew his choice. To go, or stay.

Words jumped to his mouth, choking him, all the pleas and arguments – all essentially amounting to, what Arthur wanted. _Stay_. But it was Merlin's happiness, and Merlin's choice.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

 _Hold on_ , someone whispered through the unremitting shriek of Merlin's soul, tearing and tearing apart. _They're here. Just hold on a moment longer_ …

He knew the voice. _Father_?

 _Ah, boy. This is not what I wanted for you…_

 _This is what you were afraid of, when I came here first. I guess you were right…_ His fingers were slipping. His feet were slipping.

Another voice. _Hey, Mr. Emrys – I can't find the sister. I say we have Merlin tell the witch she won't come because she doesn't want to, then maybe she'll give up…_

Merlin didn't dare open his eyes, as if relaxing one set of muscles might mean that the rest would fail to hold.

 _Will?_

The pause of a moment, or an eternity. _Yeah, Merlin. Hey, I'm sorry I-_

Balinor's voice interrupted. _Merlin, they're here. He's here – one moment more, and they'll release you and-_

And what? He could let go, and the Veil might continue unchanged, a potential passageway that would keep complicating Arthur's life.

What would Arthur choose? If Merlin tried, one more time, and succeeded in mending the gap and healing the tear, Arthur would never have the chance to see anyone, or call anyone's spirit if he chose, for a friend's sake. Then again, if the Veil over this hole in reality didn't exist… Wouldn't he be safer. There would be no point to Uther or Dr. Morgause ever seeking to use him again.

Refocusing his efforts, Merlin added magic to his will – because physical strength meant nothing in the moment. The crystals cut through him, scattering like jellyfish tentacles in a stormy sea – melting into him, hot coals through snow-

 _pop_

An unexpected release of tension and pressure. The bulge of spirits swarming forward to the rift eased, and the edges began to meld together, top and bottom, shortening the tear again, slowly but surely.

Merlin let go, and opened his eyes. The Veil still churned like an oil slick on choppy waters, but it was receding – just behind the figures of Balinor and Will, who smiled.

 _He's a good friend_ , Will said. _I'm glad you have him_.

Merlin didn't understand. He was exhausted, his strength submerged beneath a pervasive and fiery ache. He was done and he wanted to rest. But Balinor gestured, and Merlin twisted in place just enough to see over his shoulder.

The white control room appeared a shifting ghostly gray. Male figures rushed seemingly slowly past a reclined chair; they bent over it, rushed back… lifted the figure to carry it away.

But there was Arthur. Standing still, and meeting Merlin's eyes. Gray and indistinct around the edges, as he'd been when Merlin first saw him, but no longer cringing immature at Balinor's shoulder. He was a man, strong and straight and confident, and there would be no repetition of _He might need us both_. And he wasn't alone, either – Merlin vaguely recognized the other figures in the room, heard voices calling out that Arthur ignored.

But that look on his face. The echo of pure unhappy loneliness that had first drawn Merlin up from another chair in another room, to try to connect with him.

He felt the pull of the closing Veil, and knew he could join his father and Will. And also knew, if he didn't go now, still he would go sometime – and then, who knew what awaited?

But…

He loved Will ferociously, but this was nearly what Will had done to him. _I'm sorry for making you feel the way I know you're going to feel…_

So Merlin turned, and took the first step toward Arthur.

Immediately he felt the effect of a gale-force wind, pushing against him, sucking him back to the shortening rift. He struggled to move forward but couldn't, and reached out oh-so-slowly…

Arthur's hand rose, and their fingertips brushed.

Life jolted through him. Light slammed him right off his feet, down on his back on the floor. On the other side of the chair, somehow…

Bruised lungs fought to breathe and his pulse pounded through him like a jackhammer and his eyes flew open, startled to see faces above him, some unrecognizable.

"Okay, he's back. We've got him back. Merlin, you said his name was? Merlin, can you hear me?"

He squinted against the sudden brightness of light and shuddered against the rough scrape of air movement and his body was panicking, panicking – _can't breathe, can't move to get up-_

"Just breathe, Merlin, try to calm down, we've got you, you're all right – let's lift him on the backboard now – ready with the straps."

 _No, no no – not straps._

"Hey kid, don't fight us, we're here to help you. Hey, can one of you calm him down, or we're going to have to sedate-"

 _Oh hells, no. Not drugs._

Someone's grip warmed his shoulder, caught his hand in an arm-wrestling hold. He focused on Arthur's blue eyes above him.

"Hey, Merlin," he said. "Don't give up…"

 _Magic sucks_ , he thought. And, _It's only a train_ … Then exhaustion overwhelmed him.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Arthur had never been to Merlin's home. He was aware that was because his presence might have been dangerous to Merlin's family – but there was no one looking for him tonight. Or ever again.

"He'll be all right," Gwen said from the step above and behind him, her shadow blended with his over the rug and downstairs privacy door of Merlin's apartment. Vague blocky shapes he identified as desk to the left, bed to the right.

He didn't move to enter the space, to familiarize himself with it or begin to feel at home in his best friend's home. Maybe he was still in shock; that was what Gwen had discussed with her sister nurses at the hospital, when they weren't talking about Merlin himself.

And Arthur had watched Merlin breathe with a tube in his nose and several thousand wires snaking over his body – though, not a single crystal. He didn't look like Merlin with patches of scalp showing bare and nicked through the dark shaven stubble Dr. Morgause had left when she'd fitted him with the crystals. He didn't look like Merlin, lying so still with his eyes closed.

It was his heart, Arthur understood the doctors to say. And Leon, who'd made him promise to call with updates on Merlin's condition, and Percival, who'd driven with Arthur behind the ambulance, and Lancelot, who'd come to the hospital after he was finished at the precinct, understood a little more what had happened in the white control room. And Gwaine, who'd ridden with Merlin in the ambulance because he'd been more capable of answering questions in the moment than Arthur, had understood a little more.

Arthur had only projected the image of his spirit twice, and the first time unintentionally. He couldn't imagine what Merlin had undergone to separate himself so completely from his body that the Veil had almost taken him of its own accord as it sealed – and then returned. He'd been conscious since then, off and on, but not _awake._

And Gwen had come with Freya. And Merlin's parents had come. And Lancelot had left for duty; since he'd returned to his locksmith's van and his business and his fiancé, Leon had called once on Merlin's phone, which Gwen had brought with her. And Percival had eventually taken Freya home, and Gwaine had offered Arthur a second couch in his basement apartment. And Arthur had been prepared to stay in Merlin's hospital room, until Gwen – and Merlin's sweet quiet mother and silent solid father – insisted that he stay with them.

"He'll be all right," Gwen repeated, and it sounded like she was trying to convince herself.

Arthur turned around; with her on the bottom step and him on the floor, his nose was level with her chin. Over her shoulder in the better light at the top of the stair, he saw Merlin's mother leaning in the corner, waiting. Not hovering, but… _attending_ , was a good word. It made him feel safe, and cared for – and it felt like a good idea to pass the feeling along. He put his arms around Gwen's waist and she reciprocated by wrapping hers around his neck.

"Are you okay?" she added, on hand smoothing the back of his hair, where she'd once tickled his scalp drawing a fanged viper in ink.

"I don't know," he said honestly, his voice somewhat muffled by the warmth of her neck.

"I mean," she continued, "you lost your father today. Your uncle was arrested, and Dr. Morgause. You're _free_ , but… do you think the cost was too high?"

He never wanted any of this to happen. When he dared hope for the future, it wasn't something any of those three were part of, but… not like this. Then again, it was their own choices that had brought them to this point, not his.

"I think I feel," he began hesitantly, pulling back a little, "disappointment. Not grief. I wish it could have been different. I wish Merlin had never been in such danger."

She hummed, and he could hear her thought. _He'll be all right_.

"You'll stay with us," she said out loud. "In a few days Merlin will be well enough to leave the hospital, I'm sure, and Lancelot will help handle all the legal matters, and Percival said he'd take care of any news coverage. You'll be all right."

"Yeah," he said, dropping his arms.

She did the same, taking one backward, upward step away from him. "It's all right to use his bed," she said. "He'd want you to. And the bathroom, all his stuff, anything you need."

"Not the toothbrush," Arthur said.

She huffed in amusement, before turning and beginning to climb to the top of the stair and the light where Merlin's mother waited.

He felt cold. And couldn't think of turning on lights or pulling back blankets or investigating the facilities. Maybe he'd just sink down on the bottom step and lean against the wall and close his eyes til tomorrow – maybe that had been Merlin's idea as well, this afternoon when they couldn't get him to rouse.

But Gwen only made it three steps from the top of the stair before the phone in her pocket chimed Merlin's cadence and tune – Hunith pushed upright as Gwen paused to answer.

"Hello? Yes, this is she… What? He is? Yeah, put it through… _Merlin_?"

Arthur went up a step and Hunith came down a step.

"How are you feeling? Like a… what?... How much do you remember of what happened?"

Long pause. In the shadow at the foot of the stair, Arthur shivered.

"Okay, then. I guess you realized one of the guys called nine-one-one, and one did CPR – what? Oh, it was Leon. And Percival who called. And the EMS came and had to shock your heart, Merlin, _twice_ , and give you twenty cc's of- No, it was Gwaine in the ambulance, do you remember that?... Because Percival drove Arthur in Lancelot's car… Because Lancelot stayed at Uther Flite's place… Because Arthur's Uncle Agravaine shot his father."

Arthur shivered again. Gwen twitched the phone away from her ear.

"Geez, Merlin. What do they have you on, did they say? Well, what dosage? No, you answer my question before I… _Merlin_. He's here. With us, of course."

She turned to look down on him for a moment – then faced Hunith silently. Some understanding passed between the two women, for Hunith nodded, and retreated to the well-lit upstairs living area – and Gwen turned to come down the stairs to Arthur again. She handed him the phone, and without pause took him by the other hand, leading him around the corner to the bed.

"Merlin?" Arthur said into the phone. Judging from the way Gwen was talking, Merlin was feeling well enough to give her trouble, and that reassured him.

" _Hey_ ," Merlin said back. " _What happened with your dad_?"

"It wasn't going well," Arthur answered honestly, having to follow as Gwen crawled onto the full-size bed and didn't let go of his hand. She made herself comfortable among the pillows but he sat slumped in the middle of the mattress. "I didn't know my uncle was there…"

" _They kind of ambushed you_?" Merlin guessed.

"Felt like it," Arthur admitted. "And my mom came out of the Veil and I think my uncle meant to shoot her –" _Or me_ , he thought suddenly for the first time – "But my father stepped to the side, and…"

" _Your mother_?" Merlin said. " _But I thought_ -"

"Yeah, I know." Arthur traced the seams of the bedcover blindly in the orangey glow coming in the window from a streetlight at the end of the block. "It was strange, too – _different_ , I could actually touch her."

Silence for a heartbeat, while Arthur made the same connection Merlin did – that maybe something Dr. Morgause had done to Merlin there in the Penned Dragon had resulted in Ygraine's appearance.

" _She wanted to bring her sister back to life_ ," Merlin said. And then, " _Yeah, I know – just a_ minute _. I'm almost done, just give me a minute… Arthur_?"

"Yeah," he said.

" _Nurse wants me to hang up. But… I think your doctor might have succeeded, if… if I'd – or if I hadn't_ -"

"Don't think about it, then," Arthur told him. "It didn't happen and she didn't succeed."

" _The curtain's closed_ ," Merlin said simply. And again, " _No, I don't want it open, you helpful old bat, I want to finish my phone conversation in_ private _. Arthur… I'm sorry._ "

"I'm not," he said immediately. "I never wanted that ability. I'm glad the Veil is closed – I think it made more people unhappy than happy."

" _And now we all can heal_ ," Merlin said.

"I'm sorry about your dad," Arthur said. Because now Balinor and Merlin would have to wait to see each other again – though Arthur wasn't going to be sorry if it was a very long time.

" _I'm sorry about yours_ ," Merlin said. " _Yes, all_ right _– Arthur. Take care, have a good night, I'll be out of here soon to help you with whatever storm of whatever is coming because of this_."

"It's all right," Arthur said. "I'm sure you'll be well enough for them to release you soon, but don't worry about me in the meantime – we've got lots of friends to help with whatever-storms."

He could hear the grin in Merlin's voice. "I'm so glad for that. Good night."

"Night, Merlin," he said, before thumbing the red button on the phone's screen to end the call.

Gwen held out her hand for it, and he relinquished Merlin's phone, choosing to shift his position around til he had his head on her lap. She ruffled and smoothed his hair and said nothing, and his spirit quieted.

Then he remembered something, and lifted himself up, scooting around straight on the bed and holding out his arms to her.

"What?" she said. He couldn't see her expression, with her back to the dimly-lit window.

"Come here," he told her. "I know you had a really long, hard day too." She'd had a shift at work, before discovering Merlin missing – and then all afternoon in the hospital again after he'd been found.

She hesitated only a moment more, then folded herself into him, her head tucked comfortably on his shoulder. He tangled his fingers in her curls, turning his face to smell them, and she brushed her fingers up and down his ribs slowly and absently. Her body melted toward stillness, and his exhaustion relaxed into surrender to deep slumber.

 **A/N: So I did get some time to write during Spring Break – which was eventful, at least the traveling part – and because I was a little bit sorry about the cliffie last time, here's this! I have one more chapter to go, I think, but I'm going to be posting another poll on my profile as far as what I might think about writing next – but definitely probably a period fic. Enjoy!**


	16. Magic Enough

(Sorry this wasn't up yesterday. RL happens to me, too…)

 **Chapter 16: Magic Enough**

Merlin was glad to have his phone back.

He was glad to have his clothes back, too, as pajamas were all he'd been allowed the last two days, being wheeled through cold corridors from one test to the next to the next as though he truly was an invalid who couldn't walk. He was glad to be in jeans and boots again, and the short sleeves of his t-shirt didn't bother the IV they'd left in his arm, short length of plastic tubing clipped off and taped down. The last thing to come off or out after the last doctor signed the last sheet of his release.

Any minute now. Toss-up whether the nurse would come to pull the needle before or after Arthur arrived to pick him up.

Merlin sat on the edge of the high thin hospital bed and tapped the toes of his boots on the shiny tile floor, listening to the ringing extension at a certain desk of the Sun-Star's second floor and thinking of the last time he'd been in the hospital, and she'd written the number on the dry-erase patient's board in the room.

"Hello?" she said.

"Hey, it's me." He couldn't help grinning at the sound of the pleased little gasp she made. He loved the sound of her voice, and the thought that she might feel the same way to hear his.

"Merlin! I haven't talked to you for – oh, it's got to be twelve hours now! How _are_ you?"

His grin widened at her teasing. "I told them my heart was fine. It has to be stronger than normal to make it through two coronary events."

"What did they say?"

He tapped his toes again, growing more serious. "They can't find any damage. No scarring, no blockages, rhythm steady under stress…"

She hummed contentment with the assessment, and he heard the clicking of her keyboard as if she was doing some simultaneous work.

So he continued slyly, "Care to test their theory?"

"Hm… what?"

"What are you wearing?" he said – glancing up at the doorway just as a passing nurse glanced in. Hoping she hadn't heard – and grinning again in case she had.

"My bathrobe," Freya answered, sounding on the edge of laughter. "Fuzzy pink slippers."

"Is that it?" he said hopefully, closing his eyes to better visualize the image.

"Well, not counting the purple curlers in my hair and the green mud-mask on my face…" He laughed out loud, and could swear that he heard her self-satisfied smirk when she added, "So they're letting you out, huh? Without restrictions?"

He made a rude noise, having no intention of following exercise regimens or diets or courses of vitamins, though Gwen would probably make sure he came in for his follow-ups with a cardiologist. "Just a little TLC, they said… How about I come over tonight?"

"Oh," she said, drawing the word out mournfully. "Not tonight. My sister is in town."

His spine straightened with his surprise. "You have a sister?"

"Yes – but don't even think about setting her up with any one of your friends, she's married. And pregnant."

"Wow," he said, his interest piqued. Freya was – so unexpected; he loved that about her, and every new or quirky revelation. "How about if I just stop by to meet her? And maybe snatch a kiss – from you – in the hallway?"

"Well… if you bring honey-walnut shrimp, we'll let you in for dinner."

"Deal," he said immediately. "Oh – if you don't recognize me without my hair, I'll be the one in the ballcap with a Leon's Locksmith logo."

That wasn't a joke, either; Leon had brought it himself as a sort-of get-well present, and it was waiting on the folded hospital blanket at the foot of the bed.

He heard Freya sigh through the phone; she'd already been to visit him, too, so she knew about his shorn scalp – but she didn't seem to have the same fascination with his head that he did with hers. His too-close-to-the-skin haircut made her sad, for some reason.

"Tell her it'll grow back," Arthur said, arriving in the doorway to lean on one shoulder.

Merlin smiled to see him looking rested and content – no shadows in his eyes after he'd had time to absorb and think about what happened at his father's house.

"Did you hear that?" he said into his phone. "Arthur says it'll grow back – and he should know."

"Oh, say hi for me," she told him. "And we'll look for your ball-cap around six-thirty or seven-ish?"

"Ish," he said. "On the dot."

"You're so weird," she told him, snickering. "Love you."

"You, too," he said. "See you." He looked down to touch the screen of the phone to end the call, and Arthur sauntered into the room.

"You look better since yesterday," his friend observed.

Laying the phone down on the sheet next to his hip, Merlin leaned back on his hands on the hospital bed. "That's because they let me sleep more than one hour at a time before waking me up to take my vitals." He grinned. " _And_ , I have a date tonight. Freya says hi."

"Ah." Arthur nodded, lowering himself into the guest chair.

"Meeting Freya's sister," Merlin added. "I mean, she knows Gwen and now she's met my mom and dad – have to ask her to the house for dinner one of these days – but this is the first of her family I'm meeting."

"Mm hm." Arthur was looking just slightly past him. Preoccupied.

"Are _you_ ok?" Merlin asked.

"Yeah," Arthur answered, like he always did. Like he wasn't sure what or even why Merlin was asking.

So Merlin just waited. Whatever was bothering his friend would probably come out in Arthur's next comment… or so he hoped.

"The light was blinking on your phone on your desk," he said, rubbing his palms on jean-clad thighs, briefly.

"What?" Merlin was distracted by the arrival of the nurse, a thickly built gal with big curls set in her blonde hair.

"I have all your paperwork," she informed him cheerfully. "Let's get that hardware out of you before you go street-side, how does that sound?"

"All right," Merlin said, holding out his arm as she claimed the doctors' backless wheeled stool, and some bandaging supplies from a nearby drawer. He kept his eyes on Arthur, who was staring out the window. "What about my phone?"

The nurse glanced at his face, beginning to peel off the tape holding everything in place on his arm and hand, in case he was addressing her. Arthur moved only his eyes to meet Merlin's.

"Your voice mailbox was full," he told Merlin. "So I played the messages and took notes."

Merlin's eyebrows lifted on their own – but Arthur was socially unconventional, and he liked that about his friend. "Anything good? That phone's all business, you know."

"Yeah, I guessed. There were some job offers. One woman, it sounded like, wanted you to find her the perfect child to… um, adopt."

The way he said the word nudged Merlin's suspicions, though not the nurse's. Arthur gave him a little grimace, before switching his gaze to the window again. Well, there were _those_. And there were those who assumed a P.I. had no morals or qualms that weren't for sale at the right price, either. But that Arthur had noticed from the message, which would have been carefully _not_ incriminating…

The needle came out with a pinch and a sting, covered by the pressure of the nurse's highly capable thumb, as she arranged gauze and sticky tape for the site. "Almost done…"

"You drove the truck?" Merlin assumed.

Arthur nodded. "I have my stuff packed in the back, too."

Merlin frowned – then adjusted his face to a smile as the nursed moved between them with a clipboard.

"Sign here, and here – then you're all set. You know your way out? or you can follow the Exit signs, or just ask someone. Thanks – take care, now!"

The frown pulled his brows together again, and he made no effort to rise from the bed to his feet as the departing nurse left them alone again. "You packed?"

The side of Arthur's mouth quirked wryly. "Unless you want me to keep sharing your bed?"

Oh, yeah. Plans had to become reality _tonight_.

"I thought maybe you could drop me at that motel we stayed at, before," Arthur continued. "Maybe I'll go back to Gaius' eventually… but Lancelot and the ADA both said to stay in town…"

"That motel is a dump," Merlin stated. "You're not staying there anymore. I don't know how fast the DA's office wants to move against your uncle or Dr. Morgause, but it's cheaper to rent an apartment than a motel room for a month or more. I thought we could have a two-bedroom – I can't afford to pay much, but…"

Now Arthur was _staring_ , and Merlin faltered, unsure of himself and unable to read his friend's reaction.

"I mean," he said. And looked down to fold his discharge papers, clumsily and unevenly. "I thought… Since I'm supposed to take it easy… and you _can't_ exactly share my bed at home…"

 _Awkward._

"If you wanna work for me," he muttered, feeling the heat of his flush. "Gwen said I needed someone to watch my back, crazy stuff I get into. Obviously. And we could share an apartment and have the office out of it, closer to the city than my parents' house, so you wouldn't have to be on your own… Unless you want to be. And find another job… go back to the farm when this is over. Or somewhere else."

"Work for you?" Arthur said. He sounded incredulous, but Merlin couldn't figure _why_.

" _With_ me, I mean," he amended. "Go halves on payments and expenses. Gaius said he was teaching you some stuff… and a lot of it isn't _difficult_ , only patience and common sense…"

"You _want_ me to work with you?" Arthur said.

"Well, yeah. I probably have a ton to do to catch up… And, if you want to."

Arthur's face split lopsidedly into a delighted grin. "Yeah, I want to. I really want to."

Merlin smiled in relief, and grinned back.

"Well, that could have been smoother," Gwen said sarcastically from the doorway, dressed in her favorite lavender scrubs for work – but she was smiling wide and happy, too. "Go on, get out of here – we need the room."

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Summer in the city sometimes made Arthur wish he was back on Gaius' farm, letting the cool apple-scented breeze dry work-sweat from his skin… But there, he'd been tasked with chores by another's direction and bidding, and here… here he was partner and equal, not just because Merlin said so, but because he had good and profitable ideas of his own. Here he could _choose_.

And the park in the middle of the city was almost as good as the farm for relaxing in warmer weather. It was shady, and cool when the breezes crossed the duck pond.

Which was where he was supposed to meet his friends, a quarter of an hour ago.

He caught up to Merlin and Freya, and Gwen, near the Hermes Bridge – and caught Gwen by surprise with an arm around her waist and a kiss that nearly missed her cheek, as she jumped.

"Oh – Arthur!" she said, relaxing toward relieved – then lightly scolding.

"Well, who else would it be?" Arthur asked her.

"Hey again," Freya said, extending her hand for a more casual greeting. "Since I don't want _that_ to happen to me, I'm keeping you at arms-length."

"Not always easy to do," Arthur returned, lifting her hand so swiftly she couldn't snatch it back before he kissed the back of it. "Or effective."

"You're going to want to wash your hands, now," Merlin advised her, grinning. Then looked at Arthur, eyebrows climbing toward the adjustable strap of the back of his Leon's Locks ballcap, which crossed his forehead as he wore it with the brim over his neck. "Good mood, huh? This morning went well?"

"Yeah – we got that call from Downs Premium," Arthur said, even though he knew that wasn't his friend and partner meant.

"Downs Insurance?" Gwen said, to check what he meant and ask him to explain.

"They want us to do a certain percentage of their background checks on prospective clients," he told her. "And at the other end of things, investigate a certain percentage of claims."

"That sounds like a lot of work," Gwen said uncertainly, and he could see from her eyes that she was thinking from a nurse's perspective, too.

"Not really. Gwaine's able to do quite a bit to help, fact-checking and so on – good legal work for him," Arthur joked.

"Sounds boring, though," Freya said to Merlin, puzzled by their delight in gaining the contract. Arthur almost laughed; one thing he loved about the work Merlin had introduced him to, it was _never_ boring.

"Not always," Merlin told her. "People are devious. We just get to be devious-er."

She rolled her eyes. "Well, at least I know I'm safe telling Percival to ignore any suggestions you have about the book. _Devious-er_ , really?"

"If he writes it?" Gwen asked.

That one of the only things in his life right now that Arthur wasn't sure how he felt about it. A novel, a work of fiction, based on his life but with enough changes that no one – hopefully, that was a sticking point – would realize it. As an alternative to the bold, bald news-story with all the gruesome and humiliating facts.

" _When_ he writes it," Freya corrected.

It had been her idea, he suspected, though Percival was to author the work. The journalist in her felt very strongly that his story should be told, but this was a way the friend in her could keep him anonymous and protected. And by extension, Merlin.

"We'll see," he said.

Gwen drew his arm through hers, and nudged him to walk in the direction of the bridge they'd been wandering when he joined them. She repeated Merlin's question with a quieter earnestness, "But, about this morning?"

This morning he'd been in court.

"Lancelot says hi," he told her.

She rolled her eyes, but both of them had been pleased to hear that their friend was anticipating a third date with a cute court stenographer, this weekend. Since Arthur and Gwen were, y'know, together.

"He texted me," Merlin commented. "The judge had you giving private testimony in chambers?"

"The DA wants separate trials for my uncle and Dr. Morgause," Arthur told them. That made sense to him, since they weren't accused of the same things, only related things. "But the judge proposed that I be allowed to submit a written statement rather than appear as a witness on the stand."

"Why?" Freya asked.

He looked over his shoulder at her. Merlin wore a funny little half-smile that squinted his eyes a little; only he knew that Arthur had recognized the judge presiding over both cases, as a former client of the Penned Dragon. It wasn't a conflict of interest, as many people in the justice department had the same distant connection of having visited the facility, but this particular judge wanted reassurance that Arthur knew no particulars of any of the sessions – and to keep any left-field questions from the defense from leading Arthur's testimony out of bounds.

"The trauma of the victim," Arthur said lightly. Though he was still uncomfortable thinking of himself in those terms… well, after the trials were over, he could begin to forget that part of these last few months, at least. "Although, I still have that appointment with the psychologist next week as the state's expert witness."

"I'll coach you before you go," Merlin said. "It won't be hard."

"You should maybe dress like you did when we left the city," Gwen suggested facetiously, squeezing and swinging his elbow. "Then no one will dare doubt your mental competence in giving evidence."

Merlin snickered, and Freya said, "I kind of wish you'd taken pictures."

"Well," Arthur stopped at the foot of the bridge to turn and face them. "Now that Merlin is the one without hair, we could have Gwen duplicate the fanged viper she drew on my scalp like a tattoo, on _his_ head."

"Hey, yeah!" Gwen agreed, giggling.

Merlin made a face, resettling his ballcap – he really did look odd without hair, far too pale and bony. But it was growing back, if slowly.

"It wouldn't exactly match mine, though," Freya remarked. "Mine's only a rosebud."

"What?" Merlin said, appearing more stunned than Arthur felt, at that revelation. "You have… a tattoo…"

"On my scalp, yeah." Freya fisted her hand around the ponytail she wore at the nape of her neck with a slight flush of self-consciousness. "You can't really see it since my hair grew out over it…"

"She has a rosebud tattoo on the back of her head," Merlin said faintly to Arthur and Gwen. "I've _got_ to marry this girl."

Arthur smiled and Gwen laughed, and Freya pushed Merlin's arm. "Oh, stop kidding around."

But Merlin was focused on searching his jeans pockets for something, and said distractedly, "I'm not… _oh_. Nope, can't wait anymore, not after _that_. Where is it?... Here."

He plucked something tiny and shiny from his hip pocket, and brandished it triumphantly between thumb and forefinger – as he dropped to one knee, there on the footpath at the bottom of the bridge, nearly causing a lanky middle-aged power-walker to trip, passing behind him.

"I could say something cheesy about joining me for life's adventure," Merlin said, offering the object – _holy damn, ring_ – to Freya. "But I won't."

"You just did," Arthur interrupted, astounded himself - and he was Merlin's roommate. He was the one who had to listen to his friend's enamored rambling after a date. Gwen elbowed him, eyes wide and fixed on Freya, who'd frozen in place with her fingertips covering the expression of her mouth.

"Anyway, marry me?" Merlin said, heartbreakingly earnest. "I'll eat you up, I love you so…"

Gwen snickered and Freya huffed a surprised laugh. Arthur didn't get the reference, if that's what it was.

"Well," Freya said, pretending to be stern. She dropped her fingers and glanced around. "I'm not going to say yes while you're down there on the ground. People are starting to stare."

Arthur checked; she was right. People pointed, smiling and laughing – stopping others who reacted the same. A fifty-ish couple were stopped on the bridge above and beyond them, watching unabashedly. He couldn't help his own grin, himself.

It didn't seem to faze Merlin, who pulled the ring back slightly with a quizzical look. "So the answer would be _yes_ if I was on my feet, but while I'm kneeling it's _no_?"

"Yes," Freya said – and in response to the delighted grin that beamed across Merlin's face, hastened to corrected herself, "I mean, no! I mean, _get up_ you crazy man!"

"What if I lie down on my back?" Merlin said. "What would the answer be then?"

"Oh my gosh you're impossible!" Freya exclaimed. "I won't say yes or kiss you til you stand on your own two feet like an intelligent and reasonable person!"

"For a kiss I will," Merlin declared. He leaped up to seize her around the waist and claimed her mouth in a thoroughly possessive kiss… that lasted and lasted, while she groped blindly with her free hand for the ring he held, and he moved it – also blindly – further out of the way.

Gwen was giggling, trying to tug Arthur onto the bridge, away from their two friends, but he resisted, enjoying the free, happy, odd way Merlin and Freya loved each other. It seemed to him that they were very well matched, no matter what it meant for eventual changes in living arrangements. Probably not much in the near future, as he and Merlin shared, and Gwen had moved into the second room in Freya's apartment after her internship at the hospital became an actual job.

"Will you – give me that thing!" Freya demanded indistinctly, her lips still pressed to Merlin's. He allowed her to catch it and she broke away from him to inspect it, saying candidly, "It better not be a diamond."

"What do you take me for, a rich guy?" Merlin said with mock outrage. "No, it's a white sapphire – and see, the marquise is tilted halfway between vertical and horizontal…"

"Come on, let's give them a minute," Gwen said in his ear, and this time he let her lead up him the bridge. "Omigosh, _marriage_ ," she continued in a murmur, smiling as they passed the dewy-eyed fiftyish couple still watching Merlin and Freya flirting.

"Just engagement," Arthur said mildly.

"Still, a big step," Gwen countered, "for my little brother."

"Not really," he answered thoughtfully. "I mean, if you know you love someone and want to be with them… And if they _know_ you…"

Gwen paused, and Arthur realized they were only a step away from a red scroll tucked in the juncture of three of the wall-stones. He reached to collect it, wondering if Gwen knew what it was. She didn't ask, but neither did she say anything when he flattened it.

"If they know the very worst there is to know about you…"

He began to rip little bits of the red paper, and tossed them over the side of the bridge. _You cannot suppose I would be so gullible as to trust the relation you claim… the desire I feel at the prospect of reunion_ … The funeral had been attended – though he hadn't shed a tear, nor had he tried to – but his father's Last Will And Testament held nothing for him. He wasn't surprised or disappointed at that. Only free.

"And," he threw the last bit into the water, "if they loved you anyway…"

She leaned against him, comfortable under the crook of his elbow around her shoulders, tipping up her chin to offer her eyes as the perfect medium for him to float in, weightlessly content.

"That's magic enough for me," he finished.

The End.

 **A/N: If you want to express an opinion about what I write next, I've got a poll on my profile with… 7? is it really 7? ideas on it, all period pieces rather than modern a/u's. However, I probably won't post a first chapter until May, at the earliest…**

 **Thanks so much to everyone who read, especially if you favorited and followed and encouraged with reviews – all so very important to the inspiration of an author!**


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